Burnt Grounds
by maenhi
Summary: After an incident in Potions class, Scorpius is temporarily blinded. Albus volunteers as his study partner until the teachers find an antidote - not for purely altruistic reasons. From their co-dependency evolves friendship evolves something more. AS/S.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: "Burnt Grounds"  
**Author**: mijeli

**Fandom**: Harry Potter  
**Pairing**: Albus Severus Potter / Scorpius Malfoy  
**Timeline**: Next Generation, 6th year at Hogwarts  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Wordcount**: ~28,000 overall  
**Warnings**: slash, swearing, some bits from the movie!verse.  
**Summary**: Due to an incident in Potions class, Scorpius is temporarily blinded. He needs help with his studies while the teacher comes up with an antidote. Surprisingly, Albus volunteers to be his guide. It turns out that Albus also needs Scorpius's help with something.  
**Disclaimer**: Whatever you recognize as JK Rowling's is hers. This was written for lots of fun and no profit at all!

**A/N**: I have never been closely acquainted with a blind person, and anything coming off wrong to those of you who have- no mockery or offense intended.

This was written for a slashfest 2010 prompt and popped my AS/S cherry ;) I loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it.

A million thanks to my great betas danikos_realms and kristan1.

I'd appreciate it immensely if you took the time to leave feedback! Always looking to improve :) Thanks for stopping by.

**Burnt Grounds**

**I**

"Hellfire, Horace? You let them brew_ Hellfire_?"

Horace Slughorn squirmed. "They are sixth-years. Severus trusted them with way har—"

"This isn't about _anything _Severus scheduled! We have—this—" Minerva McGonagall lost her voice for a bit and turned for help. "How is he?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded curtly in recognition. "Conscious. I gave him a calming draught, he's asleep n—"

"Not that." McGonagall's face was stony.

"Ah, yes." The word was at odds with Madam Pomfrey shaking her head. "Irreversible, as I feared—at least by what I can offer."

McGonagall closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Just when it looked like she wouldn't be returning to the surface of the hospital wing anymore, she glared at her Potions teacher. "You will certainly be able to come up with an antidote, won't you, Horace?"

"Of—course, Headmistress."

"Excellent." McGonagall turned back to Madam Pomfrey. "Please keep two eyes on him, and inform me as soon as you notice any change."

"Of course," Madam Pomfrey echoed.

"Oh, my. Oh, dear," murmured the Headmistress. "His father is going to rip off our heads."

"My head," Slughorn volunteered.

"Right you are, Horace. _Your_ head."

Slughorn appeared to be highly uncomfortable in his own skin, and he tried to subtly wipe the sweat from his brow. Damn his students and their inability of handling pomegranate juice! Every third-year should know that the fruit had to be boiled before it could be cut, as its liquids were highly poisonous. He thought the instructions had been clear—he had even put hope in the class! They were usually his best, and Scorpius Malfoy one of his brightest students.

"Horace," McGonagall addressed him again, her expression milder now. "I trust that you will find something to cure him."

Slughorn nodded vigorously. "There's certainly something I can do. I need more time, though—"

"You can have more time." The Headmistress half-turned to the open door behind which their most recent patient slept the blissful slumber of the ignorant. "Yet we need to figure something out for him."

When the three of them shared a moment of silence, a voice drifted weakly from the other room.

"What—what's going on?"

* * *

Teachers bustling about was usually a bad sign, and it never failed to draw the entire school's attention.

When Professor Slughorn had burst into the Transfiguration class earlier, and Professor McGonagall had hurried from the room with him, it hadn't caused any more worries than their latest unmanageable assignment. She was, after all, Headmistress.

Only when she hadn't returned by the end of the class, and the students headed down for lunch, the flurry became apparent. Albus was scanning the corridor for the source of the commotion when Rose came running up to him.

"Al!" she yelled to get his attention, then lowered her voice as soon as she stood in front of him.

"What's going on? What's everyone doing here?"

"Potions class was dismissed, too. There has been an accident . . . I'm not sure what happened." She was gesturing wildly, as if trying to fill information gap with arm movements. "No one's told us anything, but it looked a lot like Lysander and Malfoy were involved."

Albus rolled his eyes. "Sure, the bookworms."

"Don't be like that, it could be serious."

"Well, I wouldn't know, would I?" Absentmindedly, Albus let his gaze drift across the corridor, trying to spy someone he could pry information from. He hated being ignorant about whatever it was that was going on. As if on cue, McGonagall spoke up.

"Everyone go back to their classes—or their dorms—or wherever—Just don't crowd the corridors! And no, we're not passing on any information yet, so you may as well stop trying."

Accompanied by low and not-so-low murmurs, the students retreated in various directions, and Rose and Albus headed towards the Great Hall. The different Houses still had their own common rooms, but at the tables in the Great Hall, House unity was being celebrated more than ever: no one really bothered to maintain one certain seat throughout the entire year.

"So," Albus asked, "what happened in that misfortunate Potions class?"

Rose marvelled at the appearance of coffee and juice on the table in front of them, before she answered.

"Well, I was at the other side of the room, so I didn't really see. Slughorn let us brew Hellfire—and please don't ask me what possessed him. It must be the Slytherin inspiration, really: whenever we have classes with the other Houses, he thinks of something crazy. 'You are sixth years, I'm sure I can trust you with this.'" Her imitation of Slughorn's enthusiastic voice was so good, Albus couldn't help but to laugh. Then, he put up a stern look.

"You know that you keep offending my House, right?"

"Yes, on purpose." She grinned. "Anyway, we were preparing the ingredients and it must have been fifteen minutes, or so, until something happened." A frown appeared on her forehead. "The creepy part was that there was no noise—no explosion or screaming or anything. Suddenly, people were gathering at the other end of the room, and then someone called for Slughorn. He hadn't even noticed until then."

"What a surprise." Albus rolled his eyes again. As soon as he could drop subjects, Potions was on that list. Not only had he inherited his father's disgraceful skills, but he found it hard to respect Horace Slughorn as a teacher. The man simply wasn't an impressive figure to him, and judging by the way his fellow Slytherins kept praising legendary Severus Snape, not to them either. "And then? Come on, Rose—you must have seen_ something_!"

She almost pouted. "I told you, everyone was standing around! Not a thing to see. Slughorn was doing some obscure murmuring, and then he sent us out. Well, he kept Malfoy and Lysander there." Rose nodded. "Come to think of it, Malfoy seemed a bit hysterical. But he tends to be all drama, so I didn't give it much thought."

Albus snorted, but decided not to comment on that. He knew Rose's opinion on everything Malfoy was biased from home, and he didn't want to fuel any fires.

"Well," he concluded, "they'll have to let us in on it if something did happen. It's not like anyone gets locked away in the hospital wing without comment."

Rose gaped. "Hospital wing? How do you know?"

"We all end up there at one point." He paused. "Besides, I saw McGonagall and Slughorn go in earlier. They didn't look happy."

* * *

No gathering requested by the staff would be as well attended as one satisfying the students' need for gossip. As soon as the notification for a meeting at 5pm, exclusively for sixth-years, had spread, Albus found himself surprisingly curious. Sticking one's nose into other people's business was more of a Gryffindor trait, of course, but Rose and his parents had to have rubbed off somewhere.

Albus had expected a lot of things, but not what he was about to hear. The Headmistress told them that an accident in Slughorn's Potions class had damaged Scorpius Malfoy's eyesight and that, until an antidote was found, he'd be in the need of a study partner to help him keep up with his classes. She asked the sixth-years from all Houses to consider whether they'd be up to the task, and give notice in her office as soon as possible.

It was almost absurd enough to laugh, really. Growing up with magic had certainly led to one of Albus's strongest beliefs: in the wizarding world, anything was possible. You couldn't wake the dead, which seemed to be the rub in every reality, but, other than that, there were spells, potions and antidotes to turn life upside down. Why didn't Slughorn have an antidote ready in the first place? This was a school! He had to be prepared for an incident like this.

Albus had been wandering the Slytherin dungeons for Merlin knew how long when he decided fresh air was a good idea.

He loved the Astronomy Tower. While he couldn't be bothered with Trelawney's lessons, the concept Divination itself bore some fascination; and the place was just breathtakingly beautiful. It was anything but true that Slytherins enjoyed creeping around in the basement all the time. They liked the darkness, yes, but this was a different thing.

He crossed the castle and climbed the stairs in silence. Only when he had reached the top of the tower, he took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. The lake lay chill and peaceful, mirroring nothing but a starless sky.

Sometimes Albus marvelled at Hogwarts' recent history. He had of course heard many tales from the time his parents were students, and what they refused to tell him, he found in books. Unbelievable now that being sorted in a certain House had been such a stigma once. Of course, they still had their clichés and ongoing jokes about each other, but there was no malice—there was no rejection, and most importantly, no superiority. Purebloods and Muggle-borns were each their kind, but nothing more, and also nothing less. He knew that just like being a "Mudblood" had brought unnecessary troubles, being sorted into Slytherin had promised to be nothing pleasant.

Albus looked down at the water and placed his hands upon the railing—this was where the old Headmaster had died. The place was heavy with history, and pain, surrounded by an oppressive magical memory. Albus ran his fingers along the stony balustrade and a wave of tension, horror and fear washed over him. The man hadn't merely died here. He had struggled for his life before it was finally torn from him.

The books said Albus Dumbledore had chosen death in order to save the wizarding world, just like Harry Potter later had. There was the story of a disease killing the Headmaster from the inside, and how the potions master and ally of Dumbledore murdered him when the situation required it. Albus knew that he was named after both these men for a reason: their story was deeply woven together with his father's.

A soft breeze tangled itself in Albus's hair, and his thoughts strayed into different territory. The idea of volunteering as Scorpius's guide had been circling in his mind since McGonagall explained the incident, and not for altruistic reasons. He didn't waste time feeling guilty for his motivations—he was a Slytherin, after all—but listened to the plan his mind had come up with. Albus knew that Scorpius Malfoy was affiliated with an object of his own desire, and perhaps now was the time to get his hands on it.

However, the night had already progressed, and it wouldn't be of much use if he kept challenging it. Albus knew how to play his cards, and decided to climb back down to the Dungeons. He would be up early tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

Their first meeting had been exemplarily awkward.

The morning right after the announcement, Albus had climbed the stairs to the Headmistress' office, where he was surprised to find out he was the first to volunteer. McGonagall made sure to emphasize his responsibility several times, as well as her own surprise, but eventually she smiled one of her rare smiles and handed him Scorpius's timetable and adequate books. "You will have to do some reading, Mister Potter," she had said with something like a twinkle; and damn, she was right: he'd guessed the dangers that came with tutoring a Ravenclaw, but he hadn't known Scorpius was top of class.

Albus had one day to prepare himself (which, naturally, didn't happen) until he met Scorpius in the library. The other student looked as he usually did—not that Albus had looked at him particularly closely in the past, but he had the trademark Malfoy features: bright blond hair, skinny stray limbs and an unhealthy pale complexion.

They exchanged several weird introductory phrases, then—to the relief of them both—started with Charms. Albus had figured that, for swinging a wand and saying a spell, eyes weren't necessary and he had been right: Scorpius did well on all new spells, which appeared to brighten his mood in return. He grew tired much faster though, and the first week's lessons had gone by sooner than Albus would have guessed.

After the weekend, however, he had promised McGonagall he would go at it for earnest, and start with Scorpius's heavier subjects.

Which would obviously have required a certain amount of reading.

"Okay, so—this looks like—yeah right. Right! Oh, it's a lot like Divination!"

"Arithmancy is nothing like Divination."

"What, they're both about predicting the future."

"Yes, but sausages and apples are also both food, and I don't think they have a lot in common." Scorpius made a face that caused the bridge of his nose to furrow funnily. "And, anyway, predicting the future may be a bit presumptuous. Making assumptions about the future, based on logical thinking—that's more like it."

Albus rolled his eyes. "I'm not responsible for the phrasing."

"No." Scorpius sighed. "Look, why don't we just drop it. I don't think—"

"No way," Albus interrupted him. One of the first things McGonagall had impressed upon him was to never let Scorpius escape their study sessions—it would lead to nothing but depression. He had to keep his mind occupied. "I'm your tutor now and I say we finish chapter four today."

"Did they pick you as my tutor or did you pick yourself?"

Albus startled a bit. "I'm a helpful person."

"Okay, but that doesn't change the fact that you know nothing about my subjects." Scorpius sounded more drained than he had probably intended. It was only 2pm, but Albus could only guess what a struggle it was to manage daily life without one of your senses. Or, maybe he couldn't guess at all.

"We can take a break if you want," he offered.

Scorpius wrinkled his nose. "No thank you. I appreciate your effort though." He got up and ran his fingers along the table to figure out its edges. "Could you hand me my book, please?" Albus found himself with a long white arm in front of his face.

"No, I can't," he retorted. "I said we were going to finish chapter four."

"And I said we weren't."

"I'm your tutor."

"You're a sixth-year."

"I'm your tutor for now, and that's good enough!"

Scorpius was obviously about to say something, then merely stiffened and grabbed his walking cane. "Then keep it," he said quietly. "See you, Albus." When he set off to leave the library, Albus found himself wanting to stop the other boy, to insist on keep going—but what was the point? Of course this wasn't all fun and easily done.

Albus watched as Scorpius made his way towards the exit, where one of his Ravenclaw friends picked him up to guide him. He briefly wondered what in Merlin's name had possessed him to take a job that would've been so much more suitable for one of Scorpius's classmates. Well, he knew what had possessed him. It was large and imposing and was deep down in—

"You done already?" Rose dropped into Scorpius's empty seat and tilted her head. "How did it go?"

Albus shrugged. "Alright, I guess. He sort of fled before we had finished the chapter—but hey, who could blame him?"

Rose nodded. "You think it's helping at all?"

"I hope. I don't really know how to go at this." He didn't feel like talking about his abilities to teach an estimated genius.

Rose got even more comfortable in her chair and eyed him curiously. Apparently she wasn't planning on dropping the subject soon. "You know, I have been wondering why you signed up for this. What's in it for you, Potter?"

Albus stared at her wide-eyed. "Now, you have a splendid opinion of me!"

She grinned. "Let's just say that I've known you for some years."

Albus shrugged. "Just a challenge. You know I like to make myself indispensable."

"Well—as far as I'm concerned, he's been top of the year for too long anyway." Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. "I didn't say that of course."

"Of course." Albus rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Okay, and now I think I should really prepare myself for our next lesson. I'm making a fool of myself with Arithmancy."

"Ugh." Rose made a face. "Who would even pick that?"

"Your mother."

"Right—haven't inherited that part." She laughed.

A bristling paper dart landed on their table and unfolded itself with emphasis: _Do you mind transporting your little chat to outside the library? Thank you. Sincerely, I. Pince._

_

* * *

_

At the very same time, Scorpius Malfoy did his best to digest recent events. It wasn't even late, but he couldn't think of much else to do than to go to bed and hate life. Yes, they had promised him an antidote, and it was only a matter of time until he'd be able to function again—but until then, there really was nothing he could do. No reading, no sitting by the window and watching the cosmic movements, no reading—no reading! That part was definitely the worst.

_And what if there is no antidote? Why were you even so stupid? Don't you always read the instructions properly before laying hand on a knife?_

Scorpius muted these thoughts every night before closing his blind eyes, thinking he would master Occlumancy the moment he got out of this. The doubts didn't help; and the truth itself did enough nagging already. Not only was he now limited in living like he never had before, but, for an incalculable amount of time, he would be dependent on another person. It was a Malfoy's worst nightmare come true, and he couldn't even bring himself to cry. Despite it being a quiet night, it kept roaring in his ears like thunder.

* * *

At their next meeting two days later, Albus had a headache and still had to correct Scorpius's Potions essay. Way to enjoy a day.

"The Dreamless Sleep Draught? Don't tell me you can brew that?"

Scorpius flushed, unexpectedly. "I just wrote an essay about it."

"Yeah, but wasn't the task to brew an actual potion and note down your observations?" Albus pressed his fists to his temples and barely suppressed a groan.

"Sorry I'm currently not that good at observing," Scorpius retorted crossly.

With an irritated sigh, Albus snatched the essay from Scorpius and let his eyes roam the page. His head hurt even more when confronted with heaps of strange terms and substances he never wanted to be in touch with again. And how the hell was he supposed to know whether any of it was correct? Someone should try to make him open his bloody Potions book today.

"Don't see anything wrong," he grunted. "But the task was to brew the Draught. I think this makes your text here—well, pointless." Albus didn't know exactly why he was being so mean. He just couldn't be nice and understanding at the moment, not all the time.

Scorpius obviously tried to keep himself calm while he tangled his fingers into a tight knot. "Are you saying I should write a new one?"

"I'm not saying anything. But it's an idea."

"I cannot brew a different—"

"Then write about one you remember brewing, alright? That should well fulfil the task, and otherwise, you can just tell Slughorn to go fuck himself."

The Ravenclaw common room was annoyingly loud. Who said these guys were studying all the time? Right now, they were busy Exploding Trelawney and taping stupid posters to the walls, and generally doing everything that could possibly make his headache worse. Not even the omnipresent blue colour could help here; but at least the chattering largely drowned out Albus' unflattering remark.

"Alright."

He watched Scorpius reach for his bag, a hideous and tattered leather briefcase, and take out quill and parchment. With extra care, he unrolled one sheet and opened his ink bottle. Obviously, he aimed to place it in one corner of the parchment, to keep the paper from curling up; but for some reason it ended up just where the quill already lay. It was funny: Albus knew what would happen, and like the second reading of a familiar book, the scene unfolded in front of him.

Scorpius's ink bottle tipped with a small, but unambiguous sound, and within moments the entire sheet was pitch black. Dark liquid streamed across their table like the tide coming in, until it splashed down the edge and stained Scorpius's light grey t-shirt. In a futile attempt to stop the stream, Scorpius fumbled for his paper, tried to roll it up, and hopelessly soiled himself in the process. "Fuck," he exclaimed, his white arms grotesquely blackened from elbow to fingertips. "_Fuck!_"

This was where his help would come in, Albus thought, but one of the Ravenclaws had already noticed the incident and hurried towards the table.

"Scorpius—hey, Malfoy, stop fidgeting!" A small boy Albus didn't know grabbed Scorpius's upper arms and pushed him away from the table. "Dude, you spilled your ink. Wait, I'm getting—there. _Scourgify__!_" With a flick of his wand, the liquid ink disappeared, and left were only the crass stains on Scorpius. When Albus looked at the boy's face, he noticed his pale eyes were red-rimmed and his entire face covered in an epic flush.

"This is ridiculous," Scorpius squeezed out. He held his arms in a crooked angle, as though unable to decide between keeping the stains at bay and protecting himself from whatever else would attack. He looked like a scared hamster.

"Come on, I think you need a bathroom," said Lysander. He took Scorpius by his upper arm and led him from the common room. The other Ravenclaws looked at Albus almost apologetically; it made him feel sick.

"Well," the small student said to him, "this was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Mhm," nodded Albus as he packed up his things. He stuffed the Sleeping Draught essay between his books and left the Ravenclaw tower before anyone else could confront him with sympathy. His head really hurt like hell and he hardly noticed the pretty portrait girl bid him goodbye. Time for an extended nap in privacy.

When he met Lysander in the corridor later that day, he was told that Scorpius wanted to be left alone for an unspecified amount of time. "It's understandable, really," Lysander said, and: "He appreciates all you're doing for him."

That night, Albus dreamt of a black sea reaching up to the sky. They never touched.

* * *

"I'm sure you can do better than that," Albus said as he leaned across the table. "It looks like a four-year-old wrote your essay."

Scorpius huffed. "Aren't you supposed to judge the content?"

"I would if I could." Albus laughed shortly, then snatched the paper from Scorpius' working hands and started reading.

He was more than happy that their third week in a studying agreement was nowhere near as awkward as the first two had been. After his little breakdown in the Ravenclaw common room, Scorpius appeared to have gathered himself and deal with the situation with his best ability.

They had also come up with a decently satisfying method of learning together: Scorpius would write down whatever he could remember from his lessons, and Albus would compare it to what the books said. He also helped with homework. It wasn't too bad, even though Albus couldn't get rid of the feeling that Scorpius was always a step ahead. Wherefore the teasing could surely be tolerated.

He fumbled around with the papers, so that Scorpius would know he was still reading. "The first paragraph looks good to me," he said, "but your historic references are missing something." Albus thumbed to the Table of Contents of their Transfiguration textbook, where he instantly got lost in a multitude of tiny letters. Maybe he should have opened that book just once since the term started.

"Page forty-something, I think," Scorpius jumped in, his eyes wavering somewhere at the shelf behind Albus. "I read it a while ago, but I have troubles remembering history."

Page 44, there it was:_ The historic treatment of the Incarcifors Spell_. "How the hell did you remember that?"

Scorpius shrugged. "Case of unnecessary knowledge?"

Albus looked at him curiously then set to comparing. "So, you mentioned the origins and first use correctly, but you didn't mention how Vafflar, the Second, abused the spell to punish goblins." He chuckled briefly, but Scorpius looked perfectly upset.

"That's not important for the spell work at all," Albus offered. "I mean they have to write it down somewhere—but using and refuting the spell is what matters."

Scorpius almost sighed. "Doesn't hurt to have the full picture."

"No I guess not." _Ravenclaws_, he thought.

"Did I get the variations of around 1600 right?" Scorpius asked while arranging his long legs on the chair beneath him. "I thought they were quite fascinating."

"Wait a moment." Albus skimmed across the pages, surprised at his determination to be faster than the other student this time. Eventually he found the paragraph in question and compared it to Scorpius' dreadful scrawl.

"You got the date confused: it's 1643, not 1634. But that's a minor detail as far as I'm—"

"Minor detail?" Scorpius gasped dramatically. "One of the Veela wars falls into that gap—I would have neglected the influence they brought upon the spell laws of the time."

"What influence?" Albus felt a little knot of irritation grow inside him; he dislikedto be the ignorant one in a conversation, and talking to Scorpius absolutely didn't help.

To his relief, however, it seemed that Scorpius didn't reproach others as much as he reproached himself with missing out on history. "When the Veela won the war, they demanded a law that forbid transforming any object or human being into a Veelan creature." His hands were enthusiastically swinging from left to right as he explained.

"Before that, their shapes had often been used as traps for even their own kind—you know, there are ways to trick them, like when you use their hair . . . They also passed a law to ban any use of Veelan hair for wandmaking." A glance of contempt passed over Scorpius's face.

"Of course, many wandmakers have ignored that agreement. Wands with Veela hair can be sold at a ridiculously expensive price and they also have powers no other wand can conjure." He stopped in his tracks. "But maybe that's more than you asked for already."

Albus blinked, swallowing an inappropriate sting of jealousy. "Oh no, that's fine. Looks like I neglected my own history lessons quite a bit."

"That stuff is somehow stuck in my brain. But really, I can't be bothered with dates! So 1643 it was, you said?" Scorpius leant forwards, feeling around for his notes; the sight unsettled Albus more than he would've guessed. Without taking his eyes off Scorpius, he lifted the paper and held it away from the table; then, he watched the blind's groping in morbid fascination. After the inappropriate wave of power passed through him, something profound and very dark settled in Albus's stomach, and he put the paper down in front of Scorpius's fingertips.

The other student carefully reached for his ink bottle, then dipped the quill and ran one of his long fingers down the page. He murmured something as he dragged the quill across the paper with such speed as though he might forget what he wanted to write. Surrounded by ink blotches, the scrawled note at last said_ 1643, not 1634! Veelan war!_, successfully rendering illegible whichever other sentence had been there.

"Thanks," Scorpius said as he shoved the paper back at Albus.

There was something oddly vulnerable about the overall gesture of noting down something he couldn't see and, then, return these notes into someone else's possession. Albus took the essay from him and cleared his throat. "Sure," he said and turned a page to continue with his correction.

"I've been meaning to ask you for a while—why did you volunteer?"

The question took him aback, and Albus raised his head. Scorpius's eyes were, of course, still directed at nothing in particular.

"To help me. We aren't even friends."

Albus cracked his neck; so this was the moment.

"To be honest, it's not only you who needs me. There is something I need your help with."

A short silence followed. Scorpius reached up and clasped his hands behind his own long neck. "With what?"

Albus straightened. "There's an object at Hogwarts, in the Room of Requirement, I'm interested in. I don't know how to use it though. And—" He swallowed and looked directly at Scorpius's blank face, "I know your family knows a thing or two about them."

Scorpius blinked. "What object?"

"The Vanishing Cabinet."

Albus waited, more tense than he recalled himself of being in a long time. Scorpius's expression gave away nothing; he wore the infamous Malfoy mask, and suddenly Albus felt the distance between them much more distinctly. What if a logical exchange of favours didn't appeal to the other boy as it appealed to him? After all, he barely knew the lad.

"It's broken," he continued, "and no one bothered to repair it after the war. But it's still there."

"Why do you need it?" Scorpius asked, and Albus felt himself flush. He didn't know what to say, but that obviously sufficed for an answer itself.

Scorpius nodded. "I don't believe you would tell me the truth after carrying this around for weeks without mentioning." He pushed his left hand into his hair and started pulling at strands. "What makes you think I can help you?"

"I know that your father repaired it when he was in sixth year."

An angry line appeared on Scorpius's brow. "And we both know what that resulted in."

"This isn't about anything bad at all—I'd be the only one dealing with what I used it for. But I need it to work and I know that in technique, your father got it right." Albus stared at Scorpius intently. "He's a powerful wizard."

"I'm not my father."

Albus propped his head into his palm. "I know. But can you help me?"

"Since this appears to be why you are helping me, I don't have much of a choice." Scorpius folded his arms in front of his chest. Albus couldn't determine whether he was bothered by the thought, or even hurt, or whether it was just particularly odd to see such coldness on Scorpius's usually open face.

He looked at the messy blond fringe. "Well, what's better—someone taking pity, or someone making a deal?"

"You're incorrigible."

Albus grinned. "And I'm right, too."

Scorpius leaned forward and stared at where he knew Albus to be. The gaze in his useless eyes was intense. "I can't make a promise."

Albus' breath hitched with excitement. "A try is good enough."

* * *

"Nothing yet, Headmistress. I apologise."

Minerva McGonagall's lips grew even thinner until they basically disappeared. "I feared as much. You should consult Severus's portrait, after all."

Slughorn's eyes widened. "But—a potions master never consults another of his own time. It's a definite sign of failure!"

McGonagall's thoughts on that were written across her face. "What choice do we have? Do you want the poor boy to be blind forever? We don't even know what the poison is doing to him while it lasts!"

"Yes—no, I mean, of course I don't want the boy to remain blind—"

"Then speak to Severus. He might be able to help."

A figure of doubtless defeat, Slughorn left the Headmistress' office and headed for the Dungeons. Speaking to a portrait! In all his years of teaching at Hogwarts, he'd never had to ask advice of the deceased, and especially not in his field of expertise. Well, apparently, there was a first time for everything.

Severus Snape's portrait had been hung up at the far end of a deserted corridor so that he could spend eternity without the general stupidity of the entire student body disrupting him. When Slughorn approached the portrait, Snape ever-so-slightly raised his eyebrows.

"Well well, potions master," he greeted coolly. "To what do I owe the honour?"

Slughorn explained and what he required after Snape's reply was a stronger beverage, definitely something stronger.

"You should stop gaping, Horace, it's not becoming." Portrait-Snape sneered with the experience of a lifetime, and after. Slughorn contemplated going on a term's worth of vacation.

"The juice of the raw pomegranate apple does not merely temporary blind its victim," said Snape snidely. "It gradually destroys the retina."

"That— means we cannot help him?"

"You can always help him, but the extent of the harm done grows with each day."

"Until—"

"Until he's fully and irreversibly blind, yes."

"Severus," Slughorn all but pleaded, "what do we do?"

Snape snorted. "_We _won't be doing much, I'm afraid, for you see I am deceased and a portrait. _You_, however, should be brewing Eagle's Tears as soon as you get your highly useless hands on a cauldron."

Slughorn was desperate—he didn't even know that recipe. Odds were that this was an illegal substance, but anything to help the boy. Snape noticed his clueless expression and took pity on him.

"Do you have a quill, for any wizard's sake? Write it down, then. I'll recite."

Slughorn wiped sweat off his brow once again (he could've been surprised his sleeve wasn't dripping already), then carefully wrote down every one of Snape's words. After re-reading it three times, Snape released him with "enough peace not to grow white hair overnight". Slughorn tried not to think about the delay his own ignorance had caused, and hurried over to his lab where he immediately went to work.

At best, the potion would take two more weeks until finished, and they had lost too much time already.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

"Is it correct?"

"I—I'm not sure—"

"You can always look it up in the book."

"Yeah, that—It's a bit hard to find, you know."

"I _don't_ know."

Albus snorted. "Now you sound like Carroll's caterpillar."

"Whose caterpillar?" The look on Scorpius' face was priceless.

"Lewis Carroll. He's a Muggle writer my mum's quite fond of. And he's written this tale about some Wonderland, where a prissy Caterpillar sits upon a mushroom and does nothing but nag all day long."

"You know that this sounds—a bit off, don't you?"

"Yes. That's the charm."

It took a moment, but then Scorpius smiled so brilliantly that Albus couldn't help joining. It had been four weeks since they started their odd little study arrangement, and things had thawed. Not only did they get most of the work done on schedule by now, but their afternoons together were actually enjoyable. It was after 7pm, and neither of them had made a move to leave.

After he'd stopped snickering though, Scorpius rubbed his eye sockets. "I'm tired." As if to emphasize that remark, he yawned heartily behind his hands.

"Does it hurt?" Albus asked before he could stop himself.

"What?"

"Your eyes."

Scorpius blinked. "Not really. They burnt pretty badly in the first days, but by now it's—dull. Like when your foot falls asleep."

Albus couldn't help staring, but then the other student turned his head away. "Stop looking, please," he requested, so softly it gave Albus a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He quickly obeyed, struggling for something to say.

"Are there any news from the Potions department?"

Scorpius shook his head. "Professor Slughorn is working on it, but Merlin knows how long that's going to take."

"Slughorn!" Albus snorted. "They shouldn't let that excuse for a teacher make any more mess than he—"

"Albus!" Scorpius interrupted him, frowning. "He is an excellent potions master. It's not his fault that I didn't read the instructions."

"Are you kidding? Not his fault? You're not of age!"

"I can still read. Well, could."

"He could have expressed a warning before handing you poisonous ingredients!"

Scorpius sighed. "I appreciate your sympathy. But Potions isn't just another subject, it's a form or art. It's not merely about following instructions." His enthusiasm had once again found its way into his gestures. "But about devoting oneself to every single step—nothing less than hundred percent is acceptable." He tilted his head. "And skimming a page obviously isn't."

Albus shook his head then laughed. "That was good, you know that?"

Scorpius smiled, but otherwise didn't comment. He was generally weird when being complimented on anything other than the encyclopaedia on his mind.

"Well, I think we could also call it a day." Albus closed his book. "I'm hungry. Dinner?"

"Mhm. Thanks."

"You know, you can stop thanking me every time."

Scorpius grabbed his stick. "Dinner, then."

As instructed by McGonagall, Albus waited for him to gain orientation, then stepped up beside him and took a light hold of his left elbow. They had gotten much better at this and made their way down to the Great Hall in no time; Albus even felt a little sorry to let go. He enjoyed leading around other people, especially if they would normally all but ask for his lead. That wasn't all to it, though—he recently felt himself growing protective of the other student, and while that could have unsettled him, it didn't. Not much anyway.

For most students, dinner was already over, and the tables were basically empty. Albus spotted his best friend at the Gryffindor table though and dropped down on a bench next to her. As Scorpius sat down next to him, carefully examining the seat's dimensions with his hands before taking it, two pairs of eyes farther down the Gryffindor table were ogling. It wasn't the first time Albus felt the small flame coil in his chest, but its force took him by surprise this time. "What?" he snapped. The two quickly returned to their puddings.

"Hi." Rose looked at him sceptically, before giving a hesitant smile. "I thought you wouldn't show up at all anymore."

Albus shrugged nonchalantly. "We had to get Potions done. You know what that means."

"Mhm. I can't believe you're helping someone with Potions." Her voice had taken on an unfamiliar tone. "Do you have any other hidden talents?"

He sneered. "Sure. A million."

When that caused Scorpius to snicker, Albus elbowed him. "You only wait!" he threatened playfully. "The day will come when I'm outdoing you in Arithmancy!"

"As soon as you have enrolled for the subject, I'm sure." Now Scorpius was outright laughing.

"Oh, I will!"

"You won't regret it. Arithmancy is a fascinating subject."

Albus looked at him with that mixture of amusement and fascination he used quite often these days. While one could usually count on Scorpius to be honest—he didn't do cynicism well at all—his words were sometimes just plain odd.

"I don't know what's so great about all this 'predicting the future' stuff," Rose cut in without lifting her eyes from her food. "Why is it so important to know what's about to come yet? You'll see it when it's here."

Albus was about to comment when Scorpius leant forward and awkwardly turned in Rose's direction. "It's not about predicting the future, but _presuming _the future."

She strained her eyes just the tiniest bit. "And why would you _presume _it?"

"Because it's fascinating." Scorpius' pupils were actually racing, trying to keep up with the mind behind them. "No one says you have to use that knowledge. But the fact that you can have it is remarkable."

Rose looked at him as though he was out of his mind. "No, it's not! What's the point of knowledge that will never ever be of use for anyone? You could spend your time on something more useful."

Scorpius smiled. "I disagree. It's my mind, so it's my choice."

She gaped at him then turned to Albus for help. He knew he was expected to stand up for her, but what should he really say? Both had their points, and he couldn't help being impressed by this hunger for knowledge, anyway applicable or not. _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure—_Scorpius surely embodied that attitude.

"Whatever," Rose said, clipped. "Looks like I can't keep up with your new friend, Al." And with that she got up from the table and left the Great Hall. Scorpius turned to Albus.

"Sorry for having offended her. That wasn't my intention."

"She'll get over it." Albus helped himself to some leftover chicken and noticed that he actually meant it. Rose was his best friend, but this time she just wasn't right. "And you didn't offend her, you just disagreed. She sometimes takes things a little personal, but it doesn't last for long."

"Okay." Scorpius reached for one of the food plates. "What is this?"

Albus cast a glance. "Shrimp-something. Wouldn't try if I were you. Chicken?"

"I don't know, I'm feeling gutsy." Scorpius grinned and took a piece of shrimp-something.

"Actually it's quite good. Tastes like the sea."

Albus eyed him curiously. "That's because it's sea food, Scorp."

Scorpius made a face.

"What?"

"_Scorp_. Don't you think it sounds quite ridiculous?"

Albus shrugged, but was smiling broadly. "I didn't give it much thought at all. But if you prefer your full name, I think I could do that. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy." He chuckled. Scorpius looked to be in pain.

"How do you know?"

"One of your books."

"Oh, right."

When Albus looked at him sideways again, he noticed that Scorpius had a bit of food on the back of his hand and was about to smear it into either his wrinkly white shirt or the tablecloth.

"Wait a minute," he said and caught the fatal hand mid-air. "You got some here."

Scorpius stilled very much at the touch, his hand frozen in its weird position. Albus snatched a napkin and wiped the food off. He didn't know why exactly he kept holding that soft hand for a little longer, but it was thin and cautious, and it seemed like a really good idea.

"Uhm. Thanks", Scorpius said as he eventually moved and pulled the dangerous limb from Albus's grasp. Albus recovered quickly.

"Sure," he said and swallowed the last of his chicken with one huge bite.

"So—I don't have to ask where your first names come from," Scorpius picked up their earlier topic of conversation. "They mattered a lot to your parents?"

Albus had devoured every bit of information on his name patrons over the past years. He knew the story of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, and thanks to portraits he even knew their faces. "My father, mostly," he replied. "He couldn't have fulfilled his mission without them."

Scorpius nodded. There was no doubt that he had read all about this, too, but there was something else about hearing it firsthand.

"Does that put a lot of pressure on you, being Harry Potter's son?"

Scorpius had turned slightly towards him, his eyes tensely shifting from left to right. Albus would have liked to think about his reply a little longer—this could, after all, be a dangerous one—but his time with Scorpius had taught him not to wait too long with an answer. If another person couldn't see you think, words were the only way to acknowledge them.

"Not really," he replied then hesitated. "We are quite different, when it comes down to it. I think. My father was a die-hard Gryffindor to begin with." He laughed shortly. "And I don't care about people's expectations. They have no say in my life."

Scorpius nodded again. "If you can really live by that, it's good."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not that easy for everyone to dismiss expectations."

Albus looked at him intently. "Can you?"

"Not really." Scorpius shrugged. "It's fine, because my father doesn't have many—or at least he doesn't tell me. But I feel like I have to live up to stereotypes a lot." He smiled almost apologetically. "It's not wise at all, but if I don't know something, I feel inferior."

Albus considered this for a moment. "I understand," he said, finding that he really did. Then he gave Scorpius a soft shove. "That's what it feels like hanging out with you, by the way."

The look on Scorpius' face made him want to say it again.

"Really? I just know a lot because it's my subjects we're discussing. It would be the same the other way round." Nevertheless his face lighted up stunningly; it actually turned him wholly into a distinct white splotch.

"So—how does it feel to be Draco Malfoy's son?"

Scorpius sighed and ran one hand across the table to find his juice. "I try not to think about whose son I am." He briefly pinched his lower lip then released it. "Don't misunderstand me, I love him. I think he's doing a good job as a dad. It's just that I know he's stigmatized by his past, and so am I."

Albus tried to make something out of this. There wasn't much he could say in contradiction. "I think people have forgiven your family, or should have at least."

"I don't think so." Scorpius shrugged. "Anyway, for dad it's not about their forgiveness, but about the choices he could have made and didn't. A 'what if' scenario he keeps thinking about. Sort of."

"Like—being on the good side?"

"Yeah, like that."

Albus tried to remember the few times Harry had spoken about Draco Malfoy, probably at the train station. Even though they had crassly parted ways, something had always told him they were connected.

"You know, you don't have to come up with any comfort now." Scorpius was smiling at him, a mocking expression on his face.

Albus stared at him, then turned away to fiddle with the tablecloth. "I'm not."

"Good, because I promised Lysander a chess match and he's probably biting his nails already."

"Alright." They got up and Albus took his now familiar position at Scorpius' left elbow. They were already at the staircase when he noticed that Scorpius hadn't even taken out his walking stick.

"See you," he said at the stairway to the Dungeons.

"Albus," Scorpius tentatively leaned in. "We can pay that Cabinet a visit tomorrow, if you like."

Albus swallowed, excitement written all over his face. "Absolutely."

"After studying?"

"You got it."

Scorpius smiled and took out his walking stick. Albus shortly watched whether he'd do fine—but of course he would—then descended the stairs.

* * *

Albus hadn't found much sleep that night and, when he got up, the neglected looks of his hair matched the bags under his eyes. He had sacrificed a needed shave for ten more minutes of dozing, and now he sat at breakfast with a bad shadow of scruff. Smashing.

Rose immediately asked whether he was fine, and he babbled something about unnerving dreams. Then they shared some eggs, made jokes about Hagrid's outfit and everything felt just alright. It was Rose who brought up the topic.

"Al, I'm sorry for yesterday," she said earnestly. "It's just—you're spending so much time with Malfoy now. I'm kind of jealous."

Albus almost laughed. "Are you kidding? I'm just Scorpius' study partner."

"Looks like a lot more than a study partner to me."

"What do you mean?" He didn't notice his head snap up forcefully, until there was a sting in his neck.

"Well, to me it looks a lot like you have become friends. And I'm not the one to pick your friends . . . but Albus, he's a _Malfoy_."

Albus put down his fork. Where the hell was she trying to go with this?

"I am quite aware of who he is. And here I thought we were old enough to bury stupid stereotypes."

"They exist for a reason."

"No, they don't. And, by the way, you were right: I don't need you to pick my friends, nor to think for me." He frowned at her angrily. "I don't know about your experience, but 'making up' works differently in my world."

Rose sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't want to fight. See you at Charms?"

"Yeah."

Albus knew that Rose had just left to avoid further banter, and he almost groaned. How had this happened—that they couldn't have a normal conversation anymore? He knew he wasn't in his best shape today, but her constant picking on Scorpius for his family's background was starting to get annoying. The fact that he could talk to Rose about everything was one of the reasons why they had been friends for so long. However, if suddenly having a different opinion was such a problem for her, how would this get solved? Albus didn't plan on agreeing with everything she said.

He poured himself another cup of coffee—he badly needed the caffeine today. Charms, afterwards Transfiguration and Herbology. Oxygen would probably help, but the mere thought of spending an entire class in motion and in the fresh air exhausted him.

Albus focused his thoughts on the Room of Requirement, and that today he would find out more about the secrets of this particular Vanishing Cabinet. He hadn't told Scorpius about his plans, but inside his head, they were already fully formed and ready to be executed.

After the war, Borgin and Burkes had had to close their doors forever, and the subsequent owner had turned the shady store into a pub.

Why the Ministry had left Borgin's Vanishing Cabinet in the pub's basement—whether as a silent memorial or out of simple forgetfulness—wasn't clear, but it was still there and had to bear a certain connection to the one at Hogwarts. The fire in the night of the war had destroyed many objects in the Room, but miraculously not all, and Scorpius' father had discovered the Cabinets were twins and had mended their bond.

What better way to sneak out of Hogwarts and have a drink with people who could tell a story?

His desire for adventure, Albus noticed, had increased rapidly over the past year. He would have felt like a madman to voice this, but the peace lying over the wizarding world bored him. While all they ever heard was how lucky they were for growing up without an impending war, he knew what this also meant: they grew up without anything to fight for. Albus didn't want to finish school being mediocre. And, if he didn't have the stories to tell, then he wanted to meet people who had.

_And of course, I want to get pissed._

Albus downed the rest of his coffee and headed for his Charms class. He had never felt particularly bad about his decisions and that didn't have anything to do with being Harry Potter's son. Self-importance was one of the Slytherin traits he actually enjoyed sporting, and what could his parents know about these?

* * *

Scorpius skilfully twirled his wand between his fingers before casting a nonchalant Summoning Charm.

"How was it?" he asked.

"Oohh . . . decent."

"Prat."

"Alright, it was perfect." Albus rolled his eyes. "You knew that anyway."

Scorpius grinned. "I only feel it coming out, I need someone to tell me what it looks like."

"In the Muggle world, I believe this is called 'fishing for compliments'—"

"Alright, alright, if it bothers you that much, I won't do it again."

Albus smiled and leaned back further in his chair. "Not bothered at all. Go ahead!"

_"Expelliarmus!_"

Albus's holly wand flew from his hand and landed on the marble floor with a sharp clonk. "Hey, what was that for? I wasn't even prepared!"

Scorpius grinned mischievously. "Sorry, just for practise."

"Let me know when you fancy a duel, I'm always in for it," Albus said as he got up to collect his wand. It was strong and robust and hadn't suffered a bit from its hard landing; he loved it. "And don't use your eyes as an excuse. I know you have ten other senses!"

Scorpius laughed and started to pack up his things. "Shall we go?"

"Sure." Albus eyed him as he stuffed his ancient leather bag far beyond its obvious capacities. With books and pieces of parchment sticking out of every crack, the thing looked a great deal like a take-away attic. Even more though he marvelled at Scorpius' cool reaction to the statement.

They had come a long way since their study sessions had started, and Albus was both proud of himself for doing such a good job, and of Scorpius for dealing with his disability the way he did. It had to be hard, but apparently they shared the opinion that it didn't help to lament about what you couldn't change.

What was so remarkable, though, was Scorpius' lack of cynicism or reclusiveness. He was, Albus thought, actually quite vulnerable in his trust.

At that very moment, he hit his foot on the chair leg and cursed a little.

"Malfoy!" Albus reprimanded playfully. "Didn't your father teach you about language?"

Scorpius smirked. "Sure, the good and the bad."

"What?" Albus laughed.

Scorpius shouldered the bag and stuck his wand into one of his trouser pockets. "Nah, just kidding. But he tends to be lenient with these things. According to my grandmother, they raised him pretty strictly and he wants me to have more freedom." His cheeks coloured faintly pink.

"You think they made him the person he was?"

Scorpius took a deep breath. "What, the rules?"

"No, your grandparents."

"I—don't want to talk that way about them." Scorpius took his walking stick that had previously been leaning against the table. "But I can tell that my father wants me to be happier than he was, and that's good enough."

Albus took his assigned place by Scorpius' side, the feel of cotton shirt and bony elbow familiar beneath his hand. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For your dad, I think. And for you. Because you both have to carry around that name now and it doesn't do you much good."

Scorpius seemed absorbed in each of his deliberate steps, but then he replied, "We get by."

"Maybe you do, but what about—"

"—about nothing, Albus." Scorpius turned to him, their faces surprisingly close. His lids were half-down, bright blue irises sheltered by blond lashes. Albus found himself staring.

"Stop pitying us. He's doing his best, and I do the same. We both know it. We cannot influence the rest." Scorpius's lips were small and excited, as usual when he spoke. Albus watched as they stilled. _H__ow might it feel to listen, but not to see this?_

"Probably not," he replied.

"The Room of Requirement it is, then. I can trust you with finding the way?"

"Absolutely." Albus felt his heart thumping in his chest more distinctly than just a few minutes ago; he obviously couldn't wait to be there. As they climbed through the first portrait, Scorpius held on to his arm for balance, and the wave of protectiveness that rushed through him made Albus dizzy. But the knowledge that he was about to find himself dependant on Scorpius soon was relieving.

Luck was on their side; the corridor was deserted. What followed now was what Albus had been training for weeks on end: longing for nothing more than for that very door to appear in the wall. Just when he had passed the wall for the third time, he heard the soft rumble of stone cautiously rearranging itself, implying that the door had appeared. Albus felt like a child under the Christmas tree as he turned to Scorpius. "It's there!" he whispered.

"I figured," Scorpius said. "Well done."

"Come on!" Albus grabbed Scorpius's upper arm and almost pulled him towards the door and into the room. Only when the door closed behind them, he let go and released a jubilant cry. "We did it, we're here! We—"

Then, he hesitated; the damage was worse than expected. In fact, the once overwhelming Room of Hidden Things was now a massive ashen cemetery. Random shapes and objects alone disturbed the wasteland left by the fire, a dirty treasure beyond reason or expectation. Albus squinted and yet couldn't make out the end of it. This was horrific and stunningly beautiful at the same time; he felt his heart thumping rapidly in his chest.

"What is it?" Scorpius asked. "What do you see?"

Albus turned to him, and even though he had planned to avoid it, pity washed over him. Whichever words he used to describe the scene, how could Scorpius get any idea of what they were facing?

"Come on, tell me." His voice quivered.

Albus crouched and sunk his hand into the impossibly soft grey. Then he walked over to Scorpius, took the boy's own hand and dropped the ash onto his palm. Scorpius hesitated just a moment, then carefully flexed his fingers, closed and opened them again. Albus could almost see how he absorbed the texture.

"It's ash," he explained. "The room is full of it. It's . . . all grey. But not dark. You can see some things standing out, but overall it's burned and dead." Albus took a deep breath. "It's a bit sad, but not really. I don't know, there is something hopeful about the way it's all gone, but not quite, and no one's cleaned up." When he turned to Scorpius, feeling sheepish, he noticed the other boy smile.

"You can find the Cabinet?"

"I think I've sighted it already."

"Let's go there then."

Albus wiped his hands on his pants, and reached out for Scorpius. "The ground is quite uneven and there's a lot of stuff lying around. You think you can rely on me instead of your stick here for some?"

Scorpius shrugged and took out his wand to shrink the walking stick. "Sure."

It was an odd scenario really, Albus thought as they made their first steps across the burnt ground. With their arms around each other like friends, they were walking the very room in which their fathers had fought against each other, and for their lives. In the end, his dad had saved Mr. Malfoy; but Albus didn't think Scorpius needed that kind of saving too.

At the moment though, his fingers were gripping Albus' robes and some of the skin above his right hip. The ground beneath them was giving way like sand on a shore.

"Here we are," Albus finally said, stopping Scorpius with a soft tug on his shirt. Quickly, both pulled back their arms, and Albus greedily ran his eyes up and down the still imposing Vanishing Cabinet in front of them.

It was much higher than he had expected, and also showed impressive depth. The ancient ornamented leaf doors ended in a peak, sharp enough to pierce a creature, and the wood had turned dark from the flames. The Cabinet had tilted in the uneven ground, but not nearly enough to fall over. Its presence was as alluring as Albus assumed it had ever been, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and discover all its secrets.

"So stunning?" Scorpius asked.

"Yes," Albus replied. "Touch it—I'm sure we can touch it. The fire has carved the wood, you should actually be able to feel this." He stepped up himself to reach out and run his fingers across the mysterious patterns. "They can't have been drawn with any intention, and yet—"

"No human intention anyways," Scorpius said as he traced one digit down an angry bow in the leaf door. "Fiendfyre, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"It's not regular fire, but some kind of demonic magic conjured by the caster of the spell." Scorpius obviously tried to follow each line he found to the very bottom and up, as far as he could reach while on tip-toes. "Fiendfyre has its own will. I wouldn't be surprised if it could carve things like that."

Albus looked half at Scorpius, half at the unusual design on display. He had of course heard of the substance, but never looked into it—as he did quite often, come to think of it. "I can't believe it's so unharmed though," he said.

"Well, I guess that was the fire's way of marking it." Scorpius pressed the flat of his palm against the wood. "They didn't mean to destroy it yet."

"What do you mean?"

Scorpius frowned some more, but never stopped touching the object. "This is just a theory—I could be really wrong. But already before we came here, I heard that not all objects in the Room of Hidden Things were destroyed, and I couldn't find anything to explain this. Fiendfyre is cast to devour everything in its way.

"However—" He had now stopped his examinations to have his hands free for gestures. "It's a mythological entity, its origins date far back in history. I thought that maybe it'd leave a thing alone that is connected to history itself. In other words, Fiendfyre won't destroy an object that has a story yet to come."

He turned to Albus, his eyes wide with anticipation. Albus knew he was expected to say something, but he was taken aback. "You came up with this all by yourself?"

Scorpius shrugged, pleasantly embarrassed. "Did some reading."

Albus rolled his eyes. "Of course you did."

"Well, what do you think?"

Albus didn't know much about ancient history, and his knowledge about historical spells was just as limited. "Sounds reasonable," he offered. "I also like the idea that the story of this particular Vanishing Cabinet isn't over yet."

Now it was Scorpius' turn to roll his eyes. "You Slytherins really are egoists by nature."

"So?" Albus smirked. "I never kept it a secret."

Despite himself, Scorpius laughed. Then, he stepped in front of the Cabinet, placed his right hand upon the knob and turned. "I'll open it and you tell me what happens."

"No—I mean, I can open it."

"I know that."

Then he pulled, and the pair of tall, beautifully decorated leaf doors gave way to a swallowing darkness. Albus skipped a set of breaths until he realized that the Cabinet was completely empty. Standing behind Scorpius (which wasn't the best arrangement, seeing that the lad was taller than him), he saw a darkness that seemed to pour out like old air.

"What? What do you see?"

Albus squinted, still to no avail. "Nothing really. It's just dark in there, and looks like it hasn't been cleaned in a while." He snorted quietly, "I can see the back wall—faintly though. It seems to grow brighter, the longer the door's opened."

"Interesting," Scorpius commented.

He maintained a certain level of alertness throughout their work with the Cabinet, but Albus didn't mind; he was happy that Scorpius had agreed on helping him, and there they were. With several detection and countenance spells, the boys tried to analyse the object as clearly as possible and neither could make out anything dangerous. From time to time, Scorpius grew annoyed at the fact that he had to rely on Albus for any visual information, but, other than that, they steadily kept working.

At one point Scorpius declared that he could feel the twin connection still in place between the two Cabinets, and Albus felt like shouting out loud in triumph. He refused himself the comment of "must be something in the family", but allowed the thought nonetheless: the hard look of both concentration and devotion on Scorpius' face was the same look Albus had imagined on a sixteen-year-old Draco Malfoy when first reading about his infamous deeds.

The last thing Scorpius revealed was that the Cabinet "wanted to talk." At first, Albus thought he was joking, but when Scorpius remained dead serious, he decided to believe the odd observation.

As they left the Room of Requirement, he turned to Scorpius again, and several unexpected sensations washed over him. The feel of the other boy's body still lingered on his fingertips and it felt like, after what they had just experienced, they couldn't keep calling themselves "not friends".

"What the hell just happened in there?"

Scorpius smiled mysteriously. "Very ancient magic."

"I don't doubt that," Albus replied, frowning. He watched the door disappear back into the wall like it had never existed, and then took up his place to Scorpius' left. "But what is it with this 'want to talk'?" Their sneakers made small sounds in the Hogwarts corridor; it felt good to have a solid ground beneath them again.

"The Cabinet has been silent for a generation, and it needs to breathe." Scorpius wiped some hair from his face and turned to Albus. "It misses its twin."


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

"Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Malfoy—please come to my office after your next class."

"Professor McGonagall." Scorpius stopped and nodded in her direction. "I actually have a free period now."

"Then you may come right away." With characteristic authority, the Headmistress snatched him by the arm and Scorpius couldn't think of much else than to let himself be guided. Being ordered to teachers' offices was hardly ever a good sign, but he couldn't remember breaking any particular rule. She probably just wanted to know about the progress of his and Albus' studying agreement.

As the guardian Gargoyle noisily revealed the narrow staircase, Scorpius needed to focus all his senses on not stumbling. The last time he'd been there, not only he'd had his eyesight, but he also had been a lot smaller.

With the help of his walking stick, he landed securely on McGonagall's office, where he waited for her to address the subject.

"Mr. Malfoy," she repeated, "please have a seat." With impressive discretion, she took hold of his left elbow and led him to what turned out to be a couch. As soon as Scorpius felt the cushions touch his knees, he sat down and intertwined his long fingers between his knees. Only seconds later, the office door opened again.

"Good morning, Horace." McGonagall's voice had definitely changed in tone.

"Headmistress, Mr. Malfoy." It was indeed Professor Slughorn who had just shakily greeted the both of them.

Scorpius smiled in the voice's general direction; then, remembered what the arrival of his Potions teacher could mean, and he almost stumbled across his next word. "Did you find an antidote?"

The silence was less than calming. He blinked, a bit frantically, with his useless eyes.

"Yes we have," Slughorn eventually replied, and Scorpius felt his entire body turn warm with relaxation. The teacher cleared his throat and continued. "We found one, and it's currently in the brewing process. You can expect to take it in two weeks at most. However, there is something we—I need to inform you about."

Well, what could this possibly be? Scorpius perked up his ears, but nothing could possibly diminish the relief washing through him like summer rain.

"Since we spent such a long period of time without any knowledge on the cure, I can't assure you I'll be able to return your full visual powers."

Scorpius frowned. "What does that mean?"

He imagined Slughorn shifting awkwardly as he cleared his throat again. "It means you might have lost some acuity of vision—how much, I can only guess. This process is proportional to the time passed between impact of raw pomegranate, and the ingestion of the cure . . . But it's also different for each person affected." Slughorn sounded like he had to suppress a sigh with force.

"There's nothing we can do at this point, except handing you the healing Draught as soon as it's finished and hope for the best result."

So it was Slughorn's fault? Scorpius found it hard to make up his mind at this point. All the important information was: he might be blind after all. Or he might be healed. Either way, there was nothing to be done but wait two more weeks.

"Okay," he replied slowly, "I understand."

"This sounds discouraging because we have to be honest with you, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall's voice was much more soothing, even though it never lost that certain degree of distance; over the past weeks, Scorpius had discovered new facets about people just through listening to their voices. "Your eyesight might be completely restored just as well. We just wanted to prepare you for the worst, but that doesn't mean it will happen."

"I understand," he repeated and got up. Immediately, he felt the Headmistress's bony hand on his elbow as she led him to the door.

"Do you feel like the study sessions with Mr. Potter help?" she eventually asked. Scorpius nodded. The memory of his time with Albus made him strangely safe among those unexpected bad news. "Yes," he replied, "very much."

"Good." There was a smile in the word. "Please accept our apologies."

Scorpius knew she was speaking for Slughorn anyway. He nodded again, hope yet outweighing anger. "Have you informed my father?"

"Yes, a letter is on—"

"Don't," he interrupted, and only then noticed his rudeness. "Please, wait until we know how much the antidote helps. He's got enough on his mind."

The Headmistress hesitated, before saying: "As you are not of age, we are actually obliged to inform your parents."

"Please. It's just two weeks."

Several quiet seconds passed until he got his answer. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. I'll put the letter on hold until the situation has been resolved." Then, he bid his goodbyes and climbed down the staircase without breaking anything.

It took the afternoon a small eternity to arrive.

Albus was in a horribly good mood and, while usually Scorpius would have been glad to be infected by his determination, the only thing he longed for now was distraction. Anything to keep him from thinking about stupid Slughorn and stupid McGonagall and the stupid potion that might not save him after all.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts today?" Albus took out one of the few books he actually liked opening. "We haven't looked at that in a while."

"Albus?" Scorpius interrupted him, shyly. The other student looked up.

"Yeah?"

"I know this sounds retarded, but do you think you could read me something today? I miss books." He frowned. "You know, _real _books, not school stuff." A pair of faint red blotches appeared on his cheeks and Albus found himself rather liking them. After mentally slapping himself, he slammed his book shut.

"Sure. Do you have anything with you?"

"I —No." Scorpius only barely suppressed a frustrated groan; he hated being scatterbrained like this. "Do you mind waiting while I'm getting it from my dorm?"

"Nope. I'll be by the front door, then."

"Cool."

They decided to wander down to the lake and enjoy a few streaks of the afternoon sun. Several other students had had the same idea, throwing stones across the water or practising adventurous new manoeuvres on their brooms. Albus and Scorpius strolled down a little path towards a nest of weeping willows. In between a handful of picnicking friends and snogging couples, they found a somewhat secluded spot that would prevent them from being caught doing something so "lame", as Scorpius had glumly pointed out.

Albus flopped down in between the roots of the tree and stretched. He groaned his satisfaction and turned his head at Scorpius. "There's nothing here to poke your precious butt. Down with you!"

"Very funny."

"Actually, I think your bones would win these roots over any day," Albus continued his teasing; then, he took off his trainers and waggled his socked feet. Contrary to popular belief, you could definitely live in the Dungeons _and _enjoy fresh air.

Scorpius cautiously sat down next to him and immediately fidgeted with his bag's flap.

"What did you bring?", Albus asked.

Wordlessly, Scorpius handed him a paperback with impeccable cover. His expression had remarkably brightened at the prospect of discussing literature.

"_Macbeth_? Seriously? Dark stuff." Albus was half-surprised, half-impressed—again. "Who knew you Ravenclaws had such twisted minds?"

Scorpius smirked lopsidedly. "Not you apparently, Potter. Why must you Slytherins be so full of yourselves, I wonder—"

_Potter_. That rang a bell, and Albus grinned back. "Why _Malfoy_, says the one whose entire bloodline are snakes!"

Scorpius sighed dramatically. "What can I say, I'm always the exception." He lay down and stretched his long legs towards the sun. "It's a good book."

"Yeah right, you get comfortable and let me do the work!" Albus kicked him as he opened the book at the marked page. "Isn't it about an insane serial killer?"

The other boy made a face. "You can do better than that, Al."

"Actually not—there's no such literature in my home." He hadn't meant for it to sound as apologetic as it did, but Albus realised it was true. "My dad's not much of a reader, and mum is usually too busy with the ten thousand newspapers she subscribed to."

Scorpius ripped a few blades of grass from under his hand and smiled. "Yeah, I can see that happening."

"Where did you get it?"

"My dad's library." Scorpius held one longer blade up and Albus watched as he examined it with his fingers. "It's full of dark stuff, just like people would expect it to be. He never recommended any of these books for me to read, but he also said he wouldn't keep me from whichever book I'm interested in. And I know he loves Shakespeare."

"Wasn't he a Muggle writer?" Albus asked before he could help himself. Scorpius merely tried blowing on the blade.

"Yeah, he was. You know, my dad doesn't actually follow this weird idea anymore. He—doesn't speak much about it, but I know he appreciates a lot of Muggle culture."

"Hmm." Albus thumbed through the book, finding notes scribbled softly on the margins with pencil. "Your notes?"

"No."

He could've guessed: the writing was very fine and elegant in an old-fashioned way. While it wasn't well readable, probably due to years, it stood in no comparison to Scorpius' unruly scrawl. Albus leafed back to the marked page and frowned.

"Do you want me to read the names of the people speaking or something?"

Scorpius hesitated for a moment, then craned his neck and grinned at him cheekily. "To be honest, I'd rather you take on a different voice for each."

"Right, I'm not making a fool of myself."

"Oh come on, don't be boring!"

"I—what? Is that a really poor challenge there?"

"I think it is."

When Albus cast a glance around and found no one within earshot, he knew Scorpius had won. With a self-assuring roll of eyes, he started reading.

* * *

"Okay, tormentor: my mouth obeyeth no more." Albus closed the pages with a demonstrative _flap_ and threw the book at Scorpius. When it landed upon his belly, the blond winced a little and picked it off.

"This shit is bloody."

Scorpius rolled slightly to the side and cracked his spine. "What's not to love?"

"Nothing, it's cool. Just bloody."

Albus became once again aware of his inappropriate longing for something, anything, to fight for, the way their parents had. It seemed absurd that they should grow up in a world so peaceful that they needed books to spell out violence. Then again, _Macbeth _was older than all of them; the allure of fictional gore appeared to be timeless.

"Thank you," Scorpius said. "I enjoyed this."

"Apart from my immense physical exhaustion, so did I."

"You're whining."

"So what? My joints hurt." Albus laid down himself and stretched everything he managed at once. His vertebrae gave a particularly nasty crack.

Scorpius laughed. "So young and crippled already." The words had hardly left his mouth when he visibly shut himself up. Albus saw his eyes widen a bit as a pang of grief washed across the previously mischievous face.

They hadn't discusses Scorpius' handicap for so long that Albus couldn't even think of anything to say. All he knew was that he really wanted to change the topic; and there was something that he had been meaning to bring up for a while.

"I'm sorry," he said and rolled on his side himself. "For not telling you why I want to fix that Cabinet."

Scorpius stared at him blankly, his lucid blue pupils straying left and right. He didn't say anything, so Albus continued.

"Its twin is still at Hogsmeade, in the cellar of The Thestral's Carriage. I want to use it to go there secretly."

Scorpius took that in and frowned. "Why, to drink alcohol?"

"Maybe, yeah." Albus felt a little sheepish, now that the truth was spelled out for him so bluntly. The idea hadn't sounded as trivial in his head. "Among other reasons. I'm interested in people there, in—" He hesitated shortly. "In people who have a bigger story to tell."

This was the moment when your opponent eyed you sceptically, but even Scorpius' raise of eyebrows was spectacular. He blinked, as though digesting this information and trying to decipher it just like a tricky paragraph in one of his books. The blade of grass between his digits had almost come undone from the picking.

"What do you mean by 'bigger story'?"

Albus felt both embarrassed and excited. He hadn't discussed this issue with anyone in the past—Merlin, Rose would gladly have informed his relatives that the youngest Potter son had gone barmy!—and it was exhilarating.

"People who have seen war, and suffering, not in the books but up close." His eyes roamed the willows. "It was not so long ago, but their world was so different from ours. I'm the son of their hero and I don't even know what that means." Albus looked back at Scorpius. "I need to speak to someone who does, to get the full picture. Do you understand?"

Scorpius was obviously contemplating this, because he didn't reply immediately. While the same silence from any of his other friends might have upset him, Albus knew that Scorpius didn't say things unless he meant them; and, if he didn't have an opinion on something, he formed one.

"I think I understand _you_," he eventually said, "if not your viewpoint. You see that my relationship to the war is different from yours. My dad was anything but a hero, and I don't really dig up unpleasant history." He shrugged weakly. "Guess that's called self-preservation. Not helpful, but, well. To be expected."

"But don't you want to know what it was like? What made everyone act the way they did?" Albus wasn't surprised that Scorpius avoided his history, but where was his Ravenclaw curiosity?

"There's books for that."

Albus rolled his eyes. "Books can't tell you _everything_!"

"Sure can," Scorpius retorted almost defensively. "Writing and reading is the best men can do with their brains—"

"Yeah, but it cannot replace the firsthand experience!"

"Some old hag at a bar isn't a firsthand experience, either."

Albus wanted to snap something, but the sulky look on Scorpius's face stopped him. "I know. But it's the best I can get."

"Why don't you ask your dad, then? He was closer than most." Again, there was no real cynicism in his voice, but it wasn't neutral tone either.

Albus sighed. "My dad doesn't like to speak about it."

Scorpius tilted his head up to the sky. "Probably not. People who can really tell you something worth knowing don't go around selling it." He turned his face back down. "That's why I don't think there's interesting people in that bar."

"I have to at least try."

"Okay then. I already agreed to helping you fix that stupid Cabinet, so it's not like I'm talking you out of anything." Scorpius rolled on his stomach and continued picking at the grass. Albus watched him for a few moments.

"You're pissed off now, aren't you?"

"No."

"Yes you are. Spit it out."

"There's nothing. Let's go back."

"Not before you tell me what's wrong."

Scorpius scowled at him—a rare expression. If Albus had known Draco Malfoy in his school days, he would've called the similarity stunning. Scorpius had almost scarily inherited his father's features, with exception of his mother's blue eyes. Few people knew that, though.

"I can make my way back without you as well."

"Yeah, I know that. But I'd rather you tell me how I offended you, so I can apologise. Or, you know, not. That depends."

Scorpius kept picking at the grass half-heartedly, but his expression softened.

"What you said about approaching people who can tell you—about the war, about everything. Of course, I don't think books can replace that." He chewed on his lower lip. "But I want _you _to understand that I'm in a different position than you are. I'm a Malfoy—I don't go round questioning people about the war in which my family killed and lost." He swallowed so hard the last part of the phrase almost vanished in the back of his throat. "I'm glad when people don't start talking about it to me, actually. That doesn't mean I don't care about what happened. But books don't blame me."

"I understand," Albus said. In fact he was surprised at how well he did, considering that his family had been on the other side of the fight. But it didn't matter anymore. What mattered now was empathy, and what Scorpius had told him made enough sense.

He wanted to give him a hug, and really cursed the boy's blindness. Every other person could have given just the slightest sign of whether they wanted to be touched or not. In Albus' and Rose's family, it was the most regular thing to spread hugs at every occasion, and while this was often embarrassing, it was a gesture he wanted to give right now.

Scorpius couldn't give the sign, though. He merely rested his fair head upon his arms and blinked at no one.

"Let's go, I want to dip my feet into the lake." Albus got up and brushed off his pants before leaning down and tapping Scorpius' arm. "Hand?"

"Okay." He found it almost instantly. The water in front of them gleamed in the last rays of sun.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

The weekend, for once, was free of study. Rose, Hugo, Lorcan and some of Albus' other friends had insisted on going to Hogsmeade together, and since it had been a while since they'd been out together, he agreed. Cold and rainy weather soon had them huddled together in the Three Broomsticks armed with coffee and hot chocolate.

"Can you believe it?" Louis asked rhetorically, his eyes drifting to the entrance door. "Yesterday we were at the lake, and now this!"

"Completely nuts," Rose agreed. The next thing everyone was paying attention to was Hugo cursing, for he had just burnt his tongue. His older sister laughed and playfully slapped him over the head. "Now, now, Hugo, what did I tell you about bad words in public?"

Hugo stuck out his tongue at her, and everyone at the table laughed.

The afternoon passed at just the right speed, and Albus enjoyed the comfortable company of his friends. As much as he felt he'd profited from his study sessions with Scorpius, it wasn't in his spirit to neglect other allies.

"So," Roxanne spoke up at that moment, "anybody want to check out new Weasley products? I snuck some out of my dad's store last holidays."

"Would love to," said Lorcan, "but I'm completely broke."

"Leave that up to me."

They discussed the blessings of being a Weasley and retold old stories of Umbridge and how Hogwarts' students had given her hell on earth—well, three quarters of them at least. It seemed to never get old, the heroics of their parents.

Albus sipped on his black tea and listened without actually participating in the conversation. He knew it didn't _mean _so much now as it was an entertaining topic for laughs at the Three Broomsticks; but he refused to acknowledge it over and over again. He wouldn't pick a side, couldn't pick one. It was a blur, and the shades had lost their significance.

"Hey Al, aren't you glad there's no more Inquisitional Squad?" Roxanne addressed him whilst throwing crumbs of napkin. "Or else you alone would have to arrest all of us now—quite a lot to handle, if you ask me!"

"Yeah, mate, the only snake at the table. How does it feel?" Lorcan's voice held no malice, but the question was odd nevertheless. Albus frowned.

"Excellent, of course."

"We're not being mean," Rose assured. "We're all glad the stereotypes are out of the way." The guilty look she gave him after that felt like a silent apology; she hadn't forgotten her recent words about Scorpius' heritage.

After a minuscule battle with himself, Albus smiled. "Yeah, me too."

"How is it though, tutoring _him_?" Hugo piped up. Albus' hackles went up instantly, but again, his friend's expression was that of innocent curiosity. He tried to talk reason into himself. _Guarded or not, maybe you shouldn't be quite so defensive._

"Good, actually."

Rose grinned at him. "You know, we had almost come to the conclusion that you're plotting something very evil . . ."

"That, my dear, is never wrong."

But of course, they wouldn't get more out of him, and Albus enjoyed the cryptic side-remarks getting him attention. The next matter of interest was Quidditch—always the classic—and to his own surprise, he felt a certain tension leave him. There really was no reason to be so suspicious all the time, whether for his sake or someone else's.

When Roxanne, Lorcan and Rose left for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Albus ordered another pot of tea for Louis, Hugo and himself. The two boys were much calmer than the rest of the group, and he always had a good time hanging out with them. Even though Hugo was younger than the others, he sported a certain thoughtfulness that Rose didn't have. Evidently where she had inherited more of her father's temper, Hugo came after their reasonable mother.

It was then that their Potions teacher entered the pub and threw himself at the bar like a starving man.

"What's up with Slug?" Albus asked. The other boys turned and watched the teacher down a double shot of whiskey. It wasn't a completely unexpected scenario (wasn't Horace Slughorn said to enjoy his one, or five, expensive drops in the evening), but they were surprised at how he let his guard down in front of students. Taken that he had even noticed them.

"Looks like he's in trouble, if you ask me," Hugo offered. "At least, that's not what I call 'enjoy'."

"Nah, more like 'kill my brains now, please'."

Albus laughed without taking his eyes off Slughorn. The man had just ordered a third drink and was obviously constraining himself to throw this one away at same speed. The expression on his face was one of pure despair, his eyes gazing off into nothing.

"One could almost take pity on him," Albus said snidely. "Only not."

"Why?"

"Well, it's his fault Scorpius is blind, remember? He's supposed to find an antidote, not drown the problem in whiskey."

Hugo turned his cup in his hands. "He's probably trying. Everyone needs a moment for themselves."

"Yeah, but this here doesn't look like he's on the right way."

Louis tried to ogle the teacher without attracting attention. It made for a funny picture. "Maybe they can't heal him?"

"What?" Albus snapped. "You can heal everything."

"Just a thought, mate."

Albus was busy being perturbed by the uproar of emotions cursing through him. Of course he wasn't unaffected by Scorpius' handicap—not since the lad had become a friend. But he hadn't been prepared for his insides to coil the way they did at the thought of him being cureless forever. It wasn't _fair_, and Albus was taken aback by his own empathy. He couldn't remember feeling like this ever before, and it was a bit scary.

"Slughorn is a crappy teacher," he spat as firmly as possible, "but he'll have to get that much right. The others will support him, school's reputation and everything." He almost believed it.

"I think so too," Hugo came to his aid. "Imagine his dad showing up here . . ." He mimicked a shudder. "Not good."

_And if fear is his best engine, at least it's one_, Albus thought grimly. He had this urge to walk over to the potions master and shake him until he spat out a status quo, but he knew Scorpius wouldn't like it. So, he settled for finishing his tea, not without casting murderous glances at an oblivious Horace Slughorn every now and then. At the time the friends eventually left the Three Broomsticks, evening had fallen and the path up to the castle lay dipped in twilight.

* * *

Scorpius voiced his idea at their third session.

"You remember my dad using inanimate and animate objects to test the connection, right?," he asked Albus without awaiting response. "We can check from here."

Albus processed this. "But that means we don't know whether I'll be able to come back."

"Well, as far as I know, the connection is balanced. Meaning, works from one side, works from the other. Our detective spells told the same thing."

Albus vaguely recalled the results of these spells, but he wasn't planning on being sent to limbo just yet. "I'd feel better if we research that, though."

Scorpius stiffened. "Sure."

"You know I trust you with that, right? I just—"

"That's fine."

"No." Albus sighed. "Look, I don't want to be trapped somewhere in an alternate universe—"

"That's not even possible," Scorpius retorted, but his mouth quirked at the corners. "Idiot."

"—or in the Thestral's, for that matter. Idiot yourself."

Scorpius cleared his throat. "Glad we got that sorted. You know we can always research that, but it will have to be you who does the reading."

Albus groaned playfully and slung his arm over Scorpius' shoulders pretty much instinctively; after all, the ground was uneven as ever. "See, and that's why you should feel honoured. No one else ever made me do that."

"It's for your own purpose anyway." The small blush somewhat took the bite out of Scorpius' words.

They sauntered to the library, neither particularly keen on picking up speed. Madame Pince smiled heartily when they entered, and Albus dwelled on the still unfamiliar sensation: years of mutual dislike were obviously wiped away by him helping one of her favourite students. All the better for their undertaking.

"So I guess that stuff is in the Restricted Section?"

"No, and I don't think she'd let us in there anyway."

Albus rolled his eyes. "It's called _irony_, Scorp."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I never really got it."

Albus noticed a small smile tugging at his lips as Scorpius leaned into him for their ascent of stairs. He also noticed an unexpected gush of body warmth all over himself.

"I think this has to be in the _Magical Objects and Artefacts _section, second or third corridor on the left," Scorpius said as he took out his walking stick and strode ahead. "You keep your eyes open, right?"

"Yeah." Albus certainly did _not _feel disappointed at his loss of leadership as he followed Scorpius down the corridor. The horrible leather bag flapped against Scorpius' leg as he walked, and for some reason it annoyed the hell out of Albus. Then, he stopped staring at anyone's legs and almost bumped into the other student.

"Is that it?" Scorpius asked. "Can you see what the label says?"

Albus looked upwards. Luckily, he hadn't inherited his father's eyesight. "_Magical Wording and Intonation_", he read.

"That's the one, back there." Scorpius reached for his sleeve, found it and tugged him along. The corridor was bright and spacious, as it lay right beneath a window, and many of the books appeared to be in good condition. "It's a rather new part of the library," Scorpius explained as though Albus had been thinking aloud. "They replaced a lot of books recently, because they were really overused. And by overused, I mean _overused_."

"Is that your try at irony?" Albus teased him.

Scorpius made a face. "Witty, really." Then he shoved him. He obviously hadn't counted on Albus to grab his arms and pull him out of balance as well. "What the—" Scorpius huffed before they bumped together.

It was a hard bump, but then it wasn't. For several moments, all of Albus' nerves raced into his chest where it lay inappropriately snug against Scorpius'; the ghost of a breath wandered across his face. Albus became strangely aware of his heart thudding in his ears before his mind clicked out of place.

Scorpius stepped back as if burned and fumbled for his stick so hastily it dropped and rolled a few feet across the floor.

"I'm getting it," Albus offered and did just that. Why the hell the blood was flowing to his face at unreasonable speed he didn't know—only that the same thing was apparently happening to Scorpius.

Albus nudged the stick in his hand. "There you go."

"What the hell, Albus?" Scorpius snapped.

Albus blinked at him. "What?"

"Do you want to break our bloody necks? I was shoving you, not—not inviting you to bring us down in the damn library!" His face had grown even redder, and Albus felt himself getting angry as well.

"You're exaggerating. We lost our balance, okay? No need to go all 'drama queen' again."

Scorpius gaped. "Drama—_Drama queen_? What are you on about?"

"What are _you _on about?"

They stared at each other, or rather, Albus stared at Scorpius, whose eyes were fixed on a point at Albus' chin. He trembled with fury.

"Damn, Scorpius." Albus took a cautious step towards him. "Calm down, will you?"

He received no reply. Scorpius merely clenched his jaw.

"It's not such a big deal. Sorry if—if you felt this was inappropriate. Okay?" What the hell was going on?

Only then Scorpius' shoulders sagged and he took the deepest breath in history. "I hate this," he murmured, holding on to his stick.

Albus looked at him intently. "You hate what?"

"What do you think?" Scorpius snapped, audibly repressing his tears. "This! All of this! I can't even—even fight with you! No, because you have to go pick up that stupid stick here, so the invalid won't fall over his own feet! You think I like your stupid pity? Well, I don't! I can fall on my face in the library for all I care, but you won't let me!"

"What are you talking about?" Albus retorted. "I don't fancy letting my friends fall on their face!"

"You—" Scorpius stopped himself. "That's not the point."

"Whatever, you nutcase." Albus walked up to the shelf. "And by the way I never tell people I care about them, so you better fucking feel flattered. Shall we get started?"

They did, and of course it turned out that Scorpius had been right all along: if the connection from one Cabinet to the other was intact, the twin closets could also be trusted the other way around. Obviously calmed by this piece of knowledge, Albus urged to give it a first try, even if with an object. It was past dinner-time when they returned to the Room of Hidden Things, with a renegade spoon in Scorpius' hand.

"Are you sure this isn't supposed to be a fruit? I seem to remember that your dad's spell had something with 'nectar' in it." Albus was pretty proud of himself to remember a precise word from the spell, but Scorpius laughed.

"'Nectere', not nectar. It means to connect." When Albus was silent, the familiar expression of both pride and embarrassment passed across Scorpius' face. "What? I know a bit of Latin." He tapped the matt piece of cutlery with his finger, and after that held it out to Albus. "We should check first though, whether any tracking or other spells are on that. May you?"

Albus, still feeling sheepish, took out his wand. "Sure. _Cantiim Revelio_!"

He always enjoyed the effect of this rarely used spell: how a particular piece of knowledge floated into one's brain, settling as though it had never been anywhere else. This time, the knowledge was rather defined by its absence though, as there were no spells to be detected. "Nothing. Innocent nickel-zinc."

Scorpius chuckled and placed the spoon on the cabinet's floor. "Excellent," he said and closed the door. Albus was watching his every move, feeling like a bit of a watchdog, but anxious nonetheless. He noticed Scorpius taking a respectful step back, but he himself didn't feel like backing off. Scorpius took out his wand.

"_Harmonia nectere passus._"

The other boy's voice was eerily profound in the silence. When curiosity won him over, Albus gripped the knob and pulled the door open. This time, the air within wasn't of a consuming darkness.

"And?"

Albus turned, a smile on his lips that reflected utter and complete satisfaction of the soul. "It's gone."

* * *

It was only at night, when Albus lay safely beneath his silver-and-green canopy, that the oddities of the day came back to him. Until the time he had undressed and crawled beneath the sheets, the high of their success had continued to distract him; however, as soon as nothing but the familiar snores of his housemates surrounded him, Albus' exhilaration mixed with something else.

The way he and Scorpius had reacted to each other that day was unusual. While Albus found it still hard to estimate his new friend, he was familiar with his own emotions—and he knew that their fidgety little outburst in the library was a first. In fact, Albus Severus Potter had in the past preened himself on having better control over his feelings than basically all his other relatives.

What happened there? He didn't know. Of course, Scorpius was still upset by his destiny—who wouldn't?—but Albus found he had no right to act the same way.

_This is the first time you're hanging out with a blind person. Of course it's unnerving._

And—was that it? Albus rolled on his side and pulled the soft sheets up to his chin. Maybe. Maybe not. It sounded easy to blame Scorpius' handicap for him, Albus, being increasingly agitated whenever they met. But wasn't this supposed to lessen, the more time they spent with each other? The opposite was the case.

Albus returned to his back position, in which he could much better scowl at the canopy. It was a ridiculous thought to entertain, really; what else could possibly be behind it? Other people had never made him nervous; or, at least, not too much for him to deal with. But he also never had a friend as smart as Scorpius.

_He knows more than you and that makes you uneasy._ Albus squirmed at the thought—it was the first time he had admitted it to himself. Yes, Scorpius knew more than he did, and in a lot of fields too. Naturally, that would shake someone who was used to having just the smallest advantage.

When he closed his eyes, his brains were still running circles. Albus was about to surrender to insomnia for that night when a discreet chain of very soothing thoughts made its way into his lucid consciousness. He had barely time to acknowledge the nature of these images—Scorpius' smile, his pointy elbows, the way he leaned against Albus for support—before sleep eventually overtook and ate up all questions.


	6. Chapter 6

**VI**

"I think," Scorpius said next Friday, "it works now."

Another week had passed when Albus noticed something had definitely changed. At first, he thought it nervousness, but a strange and scary clarity came with the realisation that the Cabinet was not as important now as it used to be.

As if someone had taken apart his brains and set them back together wrong, Albus felt everything being out of place, and his focus turning on things he wasn't supposed to focus on.

What would've made Albus giddy beyond belief one week before was now merely a dull ache in his chest. He smiled tentatively. "I'll try it out tonight."

Scorpius frowned. "Right, because it's Friday."

"Yeah." His chance to sneak off to Hogsmeade and throw himself head first into adventures had come. He was proud that he had still kept it a secret to his other friends.

Scorpius turned to him, a questioning look on his face. "What about now? Want to go back?" Something seemed to have changed on him as well, but Albus couldn't put his finger on what it was. He just stared at his friend and tried to come up with a reply. He wanted to stay in the Room of Hidden Things forever and wondered whether this was a bad thing.

"I'm not sure." He stepped forward. "Thank you. For fixing it."

Scorpius grinned. "I helped."

"No, you did it," Albus insisted.

The Cabinet looked much like when they had first visited it, but its insides had undergone a true metamorphosis. No longer was darkness spilling out of it, but a hopeful dusk that implied the Cabinet's old power. Albus was confident that nothing would go wrong when he used it that night.

In the shadow, Scorpius looked difficult to read. Albus took in the whiteness of his lashes and slightly furrowed eyebrows.

"Are you staring?" Scorpius asked, insecurity creeping back into his voice.

"No," lied Albus.

"Let's go?"

Holding on to each other, they made their way back across the ashes and towards the door. Albus wondered whether he was imagining things or the distance had actually grown when he hadn't looked. It seemed so much farther away than it had before. Scorpius stumbled over one wayward object and gripped his arm tighter.

It was then that he was sure of the stupid change that had nothing whatsoever to do with anyone's blindness. Albus felt his throat constrict and his heart speed up. He grew painfully aware of each of Scorpius' warm, skinny fingers and wondered what in Merlin's name had happened to his nervous system

As he glanced up at Scorpius, he saw that the blond had his eyes half-closed and his cheeks were slightly flushed.

"Are you okay?" he asked, for lack of something smarter.

Scorpius turned a bit redder. "What? Yeah, of course."

They kept walking in silence, and Albus tried to figure out how the atmosphere had shifted. Suddenly, he was tense and uncomfortable and wanted to both get away and get _closer, so much closer_—

He pulled back his hands as if burnt and Scorpius stumbled before stopping.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I don't know. I'm not feeling well." Albus rubbed his hand across his eyes. The door was still so far away. How was the door so far away?

"Well, it's a good thing that there's no classes this afternoon," Scorpius pointed out as he waited patiently for Albus to take up his spot. Which eventually he did, and they walked the rest of the path without interruption. That didn't, however, change the fact that Albus' heart was racing unnaturally, and apparently caused by nothing else than what they had been doing for days. Everything suddenly seemed like a big deal, and he kept his mouth shut to avoid making a fool of himself.

The corridor in front of the Room of Requirement was pleasantly cool. Albus pulled back his hands and pushed them into the security of his pockets. As soon as he had locked them away there, though, he felt them itch with the want to go back at Scorpius' elbow. What the hell was going on?

"Alright," Scorpius said, "I think I'll be heading back to the common room."

"Another chess game with Lysander?" Albus snapped, before knowing what had gotten into him. Scorpius was a picture of confusion.

"Actually, I just wanted to read some. Madam Pince showed me a spell that makes the book read itself to me." He shrugged sheepishly. Albus remembered their afternoon by the lake, and how his taking on different voices had made Scorpius laugh.

"I see," he said. "Well, thanks again. I'll see you for studying when?"

Scorpius shifted nervously then stopped himself. "I'll—I was thinking about waiting until you get home tonight. Just in case." He looked embarrassed about this confession, but Albus felt warmth rush through him at exhilarating speed.

"Okay," he smiled. "How about midnight?" That would leave him enough time to check out the Thestral's nightly activities, and he didn't want to push any limits on the first try, anyway. Getting caught before time was definitely not part of the plan.

Scorpius smiled back. "Deal; I'll meet you here."

They walked back to the staircase, with Albus holding on to Scorpius' arm only lightly. A rain of sparks exploded where their skin touched, but all he could think about was that Scorpiuscared and wanted to make sure he got home safely and that it would in fact be a wonderful evening.

* * *

When Albus staggered out of the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things, his sense of time had forsaken him.

_I might be dying_, he thought. And then, _I feel quite alive though_.

He didn't remember how much he really drank, but it had been enough to make the world spin and make everything happen with double intensity.

Albus fell to his knees in the ashes and focused on a mysterious nearby object. He took a few deep breaths and eventually the ground stopped swaying. The Room was still strangely distant into every direction, but at least its proportions were somewhat familiar.

Albus panted and steadied himself. He had never before been so uncertain of what to feel.

The way to the pub had gone without complications: he had landed in the Thestral's basement and, from there, sneaked into the corridor where the bathrooms were located. It hadn't been hard to get to the front of the pub, especially since it was crowded and noisy and the majority of customers not quite sober.

Albus knew how to use his charms on the middle-aged landlady—Lucilla was her name, as he'd found out later—who rewarded his smashing smile with a pint almost instantly. Albus wasn't as tall as his dad had been at his age, but he knew he still looked older than sixteen.

Most customers were interested enough in the unfamiliar young guest to offer him a seat at their table, and Albus had soon been engaged in tales and discussions that started at "I once went to Hogwarts, too!" and ended up in Merlin-knows-where; he'd soon noticed his mind having trouble keeping up. All the while, his wand in his pocket gave him a feel of security, until he knew it was time to leave.

Albus shuddered at the memory. He had been so drunk, he'd had no idea how to leave through the Cabinet without drawing all possible attention, and it was obvious that his companions weren't planning on letting him go before the break of dawn. Eventually, he excused himself to the loo and stumbled into the basement, not without making a huge racket. If anybody noticed, no one followed him.

It might have been in the middle of a very inappropriate conversation, or during the first sip of his third pint, that realisation had gripped Albus with its claw: _ I miss him._ Of all people, he had wanted to have Scorpius at the table, hear him laugh when Albus told a joke, see the flush of embarrassment on his face when he was complimented; and he'd wanted to hold his arm to lead him anywhere necessary, and then keep on holding it.

_ This is not happening._ As Albus buried his face in his hands, the room started swaying again. He swallowed hard, focusing on not throwing up.

His chest constricted; he had no idea where Scorpius was now. What he was doing, with whom. Playing chess with Lysander, hanging up lame posters with his lame friends, or maybe—just maybe—having one of the pretty, smart Ravenclaw girls holding his hand.

Yes, definitely. One of the girls was holding his hand, and holding other parts of him, and—

"Oh god." Albus heaved, but didn't vomit, and felt much better afterwards. However, that did nothing to decrease the horrible feeling in his gut.

He didn't feel protective over Scorpius anymore. He felt _possessive_.

"'E's jus' a friend," he murmured, breathing steadily. "Can have other friends's much 's he wants." But that was not it; that was not fucking it. Albus never felt like touching Rose when she hadn't been around for hours, or even days. He didn't feel like not being near her meant that something was so painfully missing it took his breath away. Not Rose, or any other girl for that matter.

Albus groaned. "I'm not in love with Scorpius, am I?"

It was the plainness of the words that hit most violently, and he let it sink in for several horrific seconds. Then he decided that all of this was ridiculous and out of place and that he'd just have to empty a hundred water bottles and go to sleep to be his old self again.

Albus staggered to the door, not without falling four times, and when he eventually stumbled into the corridor, his clothes were dusted with old ashes.

Next thing, he ran into Scorpius.

"Albus, what the _ fuck_?"

He felt himself being caught, and was so utterly relieved, and Scorpius was warm and smelled so good that Albus let himself go limp and hoped to be absorbed by the other's pores.

"Bloody hell—You're not—what the—" Scorpius' cursing grew more distant with the second, but his body was the most present thing ever. Albus snuggled against him and rested his way-too-heavy head in the crook of Scorpius' neck.

The bliss lasted for approximately two seconds before he was pushed against a wall and sank to the floor.

"Are you alright?" he heard Scorpius ask, and his voice had switched from angry to slightly worried.

Albus opened his eyes, because he needed to _look_. Scorpius was kneeling in front of him, already dressed in pyjama pants and a t-shirt with a worn-out collar. His hair was bright and messy as usual, covering his brow and nape and sticking out in front of his ears. He looked more adorable than anything Albus had seen in his entire life.

The way he fidgeted nervously and reached out to determine Albus' current position did nothing to diminish that effect.

"'M drunk," he muttered.

"No, really? I wouldn't have guessed," Scorpius snorted, but he reached out a hand and placed it on Albus' knee. "You reek."

"You don't," replied Albus observantly. He grabbed Scorpius' hand and brought it up to his face. "In fact, you smell really, really good."

Scorpius flushed impressively and pulled back his hand. "What are you talking about?" he murmured back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I take it you have no idea what time it is?"

Albus shook his head, but couldn't help smiling brightly. "Nah. Can I have your hand back?"

Scorpius startled. "What?"

"Please?" He didn't wait for permission, just reached out and took Scorpius' hand between his own again. It was thin and warm and he could feel the wrist bone against his palm. Scorpius looked perfectly perplexed again, but he didn't pull away.

"It's one thirty," he offered mildly.

Albus processed this information, which was hard when his fingers were tracing each of Scorpius's veins. Then it hit him.

"Fuck. Said I'd meet you 'tmidnight, right?"

"Right."

Albus brought the blonde's hand to his face and smiled into Scorpius's palm. "'M sorry."

Scorpius pulled away as if burned. "I was bloody worried, you irresponsible idiot!"

"I'm really sorry, alright? Got drunk."

"Wonderful—just wonderful!" Scorpius got up and wildly swung his arms. "I didn't help you fix that Cabinet for risky and stupid binges! I thought you had oh, such big ideas, but I guess I was wrong."

The words stung. Albus looked up at him and tried to sober up, but the sight of a dishevelled, furious Scorpius made his heart swell in a highly unhelpful way.

"Sorry I disappointed you," he said. "'Twas stupid. I just—wanted to know." Know whatever. Words were too exhausting and he couldn't find the right ones anyway.

Scorpius got to his knees again. "I like you better sober," he said quietly, and the warmth he hadn't noticed missing spread through Albus' veins.

"I always like you," he replied and grabbed Scorpius' arms again, ignoring his unfair advantage. He trapped him awkwardly. "A lot."

For a few seconds, neither of them moved. Albus thought that maybe being in love with Scorpius wasn't such a bad thing, and that he just had to keep breathing and not let his racing pulse give him away. That was, until he noticed that Scorpius' heart was beating just as fast, in the place where they were pressed against each other. The other boy was warm and smelled of lemons and hair.

Then, Scorpius wriggled out of the uncomfortable embrace and got up.

"You should go to bed," he advised, but his voice was shaking.

"Probably," murmured Albus, making no move to do just that. "'S comfortable here."

"I'm sure." Scorpius obviously fought with himself, then offered his hand. "Up."

Albus grinned, but took it and let himself be pulled to his feet.

Scorpius took a step back. "Looks like this is me leading you this time, right?"

"Right." The thought held way too much appeal.

"And be quiet, for Rowena's sake. If anybody catches us at this hour, we're fucked."

Albus draped one arm around Scorpius' waist and tried not to nuzzle him. With a small sigh, Scorpius put his own arm across Albus' shoulders and held out his walking stick with the other. At a funny, but decent pace, they made their way down the corridor.

In the first floor, while heading downstairs, Albus noticed that Scorpius was seeing him to the Dungeons. Had he been heading directly to Ravenclaw tower, he would've taken a different turn at—well, a while ago.

"You've brought me home," he babbled eloquently.

Scorpius sighed. "You don't deserve to break your neck."

"That's nice."

"Isn't it?" But Scorpius was smiling.

At the foot of the staircase, he let go. "I'm not sure where to go now, can you make the rest on your own?"

Albus swayed dangerously, but he was optimistic.

"Alright then. Good night, and I hope you have the worst hangover ever."

Albus pouted. "That was not nice."

A small smile was playing around Scorpius' lips. "Serves you right," he managed to say, before Albus was overcome with affection and threw his arms around Scorpius's neck.

"You don't see it, so I'll tell you," Albus murmured, still grinning. "Not sure why, but I'm going to kiss you now." He pressed his lips against Scorpius' in what was the sloppiest, least pleasurable kiss of all times. It still felt better than anything he'd ever felt in—well, forever.

As soon as Scorpius had overcome his initial shock, he turned his face away and plucked Albus's arms off himself. "You are drunk," he noted, as though any of them had missed that, but his face was bright red. "See you when you're back to normal."

"Okay," Albus agreed, not quite sure what was so bad about a kiss, but something was definitely bad about it. All of it gave him a headache. "G'night."

He didn't move, but watched Scorpius put on one last, stage-worthy expression of confusion, before turning and cautiously walking up the stairs. Albus thought no one could possibly look as beautiful in their sleeping clothes.

In the Slytherin dormitory, he barely managed to take off his shoes and trousers before collapsing on his bed and falling into the sleep of the dead.

* * *

"How on earth did you manage to get so hammered?" Rose sounded impressed as she held the wet and wonderfully cool towel to Albus' brow.

Albus groaned, relaxing into her lap. "Secret."

Rose rolled her eyes. "You know, Albus Potter, you can stop playing the 'I'm so secretive' act with me. I'm not crushing on you."

He grinned. "Too bad." Then he noticed that 'crushing on someone' was definitely not what he wanted to think about right now. Luckily, Rose had tired of the topic already.

"However you did it, you should invite me next time," she said, dipping the towel into a small water bowl again. "Since I'm bringing you back to life and everything."

They were sitting (or lying, on Albus' part) in the Gryffindor common room. It was a beautiful day, and most students had grabbed their brooms or picnic blankets and headed outside. He almost regretted having a head as big as Hagrid's most recent pumpkin breed, if not for the fact that certain people needed avoiding anyway. Albus sighed.

"What's wrong?" asked Rose.

He frowned, which hurt indecently. "Nothing's wrong, except for my head's imploding."

"That's not what I'm talking about. I know something's bothering you. I can see it in your eyes in fact." She ran the towel along his hairline, then flapped it square across his face. "Best friends don't take shit, remember?"

How could he forget? It had been one of their ridiculous guidelines made two years previous.

He sighed into the towel.

"Stop acting so suffer-y."

"What does it feel like to be in love?"

Rose took the towel away and grinned down at him. "Are you?"

Albus rolled his eyes. "Can't you just answer the question?"

She shrugged and continued the wiping. "Well, everything is 'overly'. Overly good, bad, exciting, nerve-wracking. You're not normal." Rose snickered. "You behave like a complete fool and your best friends might not recognise you. And you're—you're missing the other person when they're not there. As in, any minute of the day they don't spend with you, you want them to be there."

Albus made a face. "People need privacy."

"Sure. But you _think _you want it, whenever you can't have it. Weird biological stuff going on." Rose was stroking his hair now, and Albus relaxed his face as she touched his temples. It felt heavenly.

"So, are you?"

"Hm?"

"In love?"

"I don't know."

Rose ran her fingers through the black strands, hopelessly aiming to have order in them. Her smile was no longer mischievous, but soft. "That sucks," she commented. "You won't tell me who it is, will you?"

"Nope."

"Didn't think so." Now it was her turn to sigh. "You didn't get hammered with her, did you?"

"With whom?"

"The girl you fancy."

Albus closed his eyes. Everything was just a bit too much, but he was too powerless to get away from it. "No," he murmured.

"Well, good. Because that's never a sight you want to bless your chosen one with. Except for driving them away."

He winced.

After pondering recent embarrassing events, the best solution Albus came up with was: avoiding Scorpius—something that turned out frighteningly easy. He told Lysander in one or another corridor how he was too busy at the moment to study with Scorpius, and Scorpius himself wouldn't exactly be able to spot him. Albus had never felt as mean before—and he thought that for him this meant something—but the alternative was just too unbearable to even think about it. He would not be confronted about his behaviour Saturday morning, not ever.

What had he been thinking? Or rather, not thinking—hitting on his friend like some horny teenager—which, admittedly, he was, but that was not the point—after keeping Scorpius waiting forever when he had even made his little excursion possible.

And, then, a bloke. What the hell was going on with him?

Immediately after dinner, Albus retreated to the dorms and flopped down on his bed. He didn't feel like talking to his housemates, or to anyone else for that matter, and the dorms were usually deserted in the early evenings. It was still too inviting outside to abbreviate days.

He sighed. Sure, he wasn't too experienced with girls, but he liked them. _ Liked _them. It made him feel good when they winked at him in corridors, or whispered and turned their heads in classes. They were cute and interesting and—

—they didn't help. Albus groaned in frustration and rubbed his hands across his face. He could keep thinking about Hogwarts' female students all night long, but his mind would keep wandering back to that one tall, skinny, rather male, figure walking up the stairs.

That was the worst part: whatever he had been thinking on Saturday, he was still doing it. He wanted to stop avoiding Scorpius and find him in the library and snog him until they'd run out of breath.

"No," Albus murmured and turned his face into the pillow. "Please, no."

So he had the stupid Cabinet, and he had done a decent lecturing job, but what was the bottom line of it all? Epic confusion regarding his sexuality and a very obviously lost friend. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry over himself.

The knock of doom shook him from his reverie.

"Al?" It was Lorcan. "The Malfoy lad just knocked; he wants to talk to you. Is it okay if I send him up here?"

"No!" Albus yelled, sounding absolutely hysterical. He quickly lowered his voice. "No, sorry. I feel like shit, don't want to talk to anyone right now."

"Alright. You need anything?"

Whether he needed anything? He just might have needed a punching ball, or a china vase to throw, or someone who would listen to all this shit and immediately Obliviate themselves afterwards—

"Nope, just silence. Thanks though."

"See you later then." And off he went.

Scorpius had come to the Dungeons to bloody visit him? And what, talk to him? Tell him what a big idiot he was? Albus groaned heavily, blankets muffling the sound. None of this made sense, and it seemed like everyone else was playing tricks on him.

Certainly, someone was playing a trick.

Or maybe, just maybe, Scorpius had wanted to know about their study sessions.

"Yeah, right." He could fuck off with his study sessions, and for the foreseen future at that. Albus was so through with Potions and Arithmancy and all that crap.

_All that crap that you never understood and that he could talk about as if it made sense._

Albus couldn't do anything about it—his stubborn mind found its way back to the treasured and seemingly locked away Scorpius archive, which opened like a Pandora's box. There he was, eating his lunch. Packing his ridiculous leather bag. Soundlessly counting pages when leafing through a book; or scribbling unreadable notes on already filled pages. Blushing furiously under the shame of black ink and undeniable disabilities.

Albus saw his hands, movements, the light in his hair and the emptiness of his eyes. Whatever Scorpius said or did, it had to be so fucking heavy with meaning. Couldn't the lad ever give him pause?

No, and he missed it.

"The hell I do!" But he missed it just like the rush of body warmth whenever he led Scorpius around an obstacle or an unfamiliar area; the smell that had made him lightheaded on Saturday, and Merlin knew for how long before that.

Albus felt something stir, something apart from his constricting chest.

"No," he whispered again, "fucking _no_." He was actually getting hard to thoughts of Scorpius Malfoy. This was not, in any sodding wizarding universe, happening.

Alright, so he was sixteen and his hormones had the right to go crazy from time to time. Teenage hormones did that. All he needed was a really long, cold shower.

Albus jumped from the bed, almost feeling determined. He wondered how much wanting to hear Scorpius' voice and his thoughts on Shakespeare had to do with the hormones, but the idea made him uncomfortable. Or in fact, it made him too comfortable, and he really needed that bloody shower.

When Albus woke up in the middle of that night, his pants sticky with come, he couldn't remember what the dream had been about. Until dawn, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

After avoiding Scorpius for another five days, ants had inhabited Albus' skin when he wasn't looking. By now, it wasn't the initial anxiety about being held on in the corridor. Much more upsetting was the quiet resignation on Scorpius' face whenever he spied him at meals, or in the parks, and the question nagging at his mind: when would they ever actually meet again? _Would _they ever?

On top of that, final exams were approaching, and once more it became painfully obvious that Albus had neglected his subjects.

"What the hell is wrong with McGonagall?" he cursed loudly enough to address the entire Slytherin common room. "She knows we have subjects apart from Transfiguration, right?"

Lorcan snorted. "Actually I don't think she knows."

"Tell me about it," whined Louis from another corner. "Binns and Slughorn have gone completely mental."

At the mention of the Potions teacher's name, a bubble popped unpleasantly in Albus's belly. He wondered whether there was any news concerning the antidote.

"Is he—does he seem stressed out lately?" he asked, "Slughorn?"

Louis scratched out what he had worked on the past twenty minutes. "Not more than usual. He's always been the sweaty kind, hasn't he?"

Lorcan chuckled.

"Why you ask? Any news from the Malfoy department?"

Both looked at Albus expectantly. Albus shrugged and couldn't suppress a sigh. "No idea."

Lorcan put down his quill. "What's up with you guys anyway? I never see you together anymore. Did you have a row?"

Albus was about to rant that this was none of their business, but then again, the excuse came in handy. "Yeah," he murmured, "something like that."

"Sucks," commented Lorcan.

"Well, maybe you should sort that out sooner rather than later." Louis leaned back in his chair in what he fancied to call his 'superior and delish studying pose'. "With the finals coming on, he can probably use your help."

Lorcan feigned amazement. "Did I just hear you express concern for a different person, and even from a different house?"

"Quiet in the cheap seats," Louis deadpanned.

Albus swallowed hard. Of course—the finals. Scorpius' Ravenclaw friends probably helped him somewhat, but weren't they always busy with their own hundreds of subjects? And no one had kept up with Scorpius' materials the way Albus had. He felt like a selfish prick.

"Is it true we have the afternoon off?" he asked cautiously.

Louis rolled his eyes. "For everyone who is a _ lazy ass_ and has dropped pretty much every subject this year—yeah, I think it's true."

"Not our fault you signed up for every fart available," Lorcan retorted smugly, then winked at Albus. "Some people give a shit about their spare time."

"Spare time? What's that rubbish?" Louis leant back over his work, signalling he was zooming out of the conversation soon enough.

Albus sighed again and got up. "I'm finding Rose."

"Potty misses his girlfriend already!"

"Jealous, Scamander?"

"Right."

They exchanged a few rude gestures, but soon Albus was crawling through the portrait hole and heading up the stairs.

In the end, he found Rose on the Quidditch pitch, where she was busy showing the Gryffindor team what a badass Captain she could be. After training, she spied Albus and sauntered over. Her face was sweaty, red and bright with joy.

"You, on the pitch? Am I dreaming?" Rose flopped down on the bench next to him and took off her protection gear.

Albus grinned. "Darling, I just missed you."

She backed away. "Are you okay?"

"Not really. I wanted to talk to you."

"Is it about the crush again?" Rose had shrugged off her robes and turned towards the cooling breeze. "Sorry, I smell."

"You don't. And yes, it is." He felt like he was betraying his house by being so horribly vulnerable. All the better he wasn't wearing anything green at the moment—that would be just wrong. "If I don't tell anyone, I'll go crazy."

Rose looked at him, curious now. "I'd ask if this can wait until I've showered, but that sounds like a 'no'."

"It won't take long."

Albus took a deep breath, and felt more pathetic than he ever had in his entire life. Blowing the whole thing up like he just did—that was about the last thing he'd planned to do. Well, no chance to back out now.

"I think I might be in love with Scorpius."

Rose gaped. Then she laughed, and afterwards she gaped again. "You're serious."

Albus glared at her. "For fuck's sake, yes, I'm serious! Are you too much of a giggly girl to grasp the concept?"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, Al, okay? I just—I didn't see that coming. When we were discussing your crush, I—well, I thought it was a girl, to begin with." She left her hand there, and it was—as much as he hated to admit it—soothing.

Albus didn't know what to say, so he looked out at the pitch, where the Hufflepuff team was getting ready for their training.

"Does he know?" asked Rose.

Albus shook his head. "You crazy? It's bad enough I hit on him last Friday."

"You what?" His best friend looked like she was restraining a guffaw, only half-succeeding. Albus sighed.

"Laugh if you want, I know it's the top class of stupid."

Rose squeezed his arm. "Shut up; it's not. You mean last Friday, when you were hammered?"

"Yep."

"So you were with him?"

"Not exactly." Albus groaned. "I sort of ran into him at the down of downs."

One of Rose's best qualities was definitely her satisfaction with only so few coordinates. "Oh," she said, not digging further into the matter. "And then?"

"I thought it was a good moment to go all cuddly on him and tell him that he smelled good." Albus winced as the memory turned into words. "And then I kissed him."

"YOU WHAT?"

"_Ssshhh_!" Rose's voice had easily carried across the audience stand. Albus felt his face heat up. "Not really of course. I just—sort of pecked him on the lips. And stayed there."

Rose stared at him in disbelief, before her face split into a grin. "Sweets, Al! That is not the end of the world."

"I can't see him again though."

"And why on earth not?" She shook her head. "You were drunk. He better doesn't take that a hundred per cent seriously—"

"But don't you get it?" Albus groaned, "it _was _a hundred per cent serious! I'm crushing on him; I bloody want to do it again." Now, his cheeks were on fire.

She ran her hand down his arm and grasped his own. "In that case, you should." When he just rolled his eyes, she squeezed his fingers. "What? You don't know whether he's interested too, but you're not going to find out by moping."

"Of course he's not interested," Albus spat, infuriated by how frustrated he sounded. "I'm a bloke. I'm his stupid study partner. Fuck, I'm even messing up the weird friendship we had!"

Rose made a dismissive sound. "Stop acting like you know everything—oh right, I forget: that's what you do. But you don't know about his preferences before you ask him."

"Right, ask him. If this is the best you can do—"

"Oh shut up. What's the alternative, not seeing him at all?"

"Sounds like a good idea right now."

"Yeah, sure. Everyone can tell you're a mess. Even Kathy asked me what was wrong with you."

"Who?"

"See?"

Albus couldn't help chuckling. "You just _might _have a point there," he murmured afterwards.

"Of course I do. Here's what you're going to do: tell him the truth. You can always continue the not-talking policy if he turns you down."

If he turns you down—Albus didn't like the sound of that. Not only because it sounded a ridiculous lot like teenage drama. Which, again, absolutely did not apply to his highly complex situation.

"I could consider it," he finally said.

Rose made a face, but patted his head. "Trust the advice of an experienced dater."

He made a face back. "Did I miss something?"

"Oh, everything," Rose retorted with a roll of eyes. "If you weren't so caught up in your own misery, you'd have noticed I'm going out with someone."

"Who?" It was impossible to go against protective best-friend sentiments. Rose smiled mischievously.

"You use your Slytherin cunning to find that out."

Albus glared at her, if only half-heartedly. The Hufflepuffs were currently hovering in the air like lazy bumblebees, their Keeper and Beater engaged in a fervent discussion on the ground. Madam Hooch had sauntered off, likely to have a secret pipe with Grubbly-Plank.

"Thanks, Rose," he said.

"Nothing to thank me for." Rose got up and gathered her discarded clothing. "I'll be off to the shower, then. Will you manage without me?"

Albus didn't dignify that with a response.

"You really should, you know. Talk to him. After all, fin—"

"—Final exams are coming up, I know." Albus groaned. "How about I tell him after that? He probably needs my help to study."

Rose looked at him almost thoughtfully. "Who knew you could be so noble?" she asked, only partly directed at him. "I can't even disagree. But you have to tell him, alright?"

"Aye."

"Good boy." She smiled. "You know what's the best part about it? I can stop being jealous of him now."

Albus couldn't suppress an incredulous laugh. "Bugger off, Weasley."

"See you later."

As it happens so often, however, nothing would work out the way it was planned.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII****  
**

It started with Albus perfectly mapping his approach, only to be surprised by Scorpius before time.

"Albus?" said a very familiar voice, one day in the library. Albus was there to catch up with McGonagall's current pile of madness and, if needed be, fix a cheat slip. All the luckier he had been to find a table just for himself—so far, that was.

He startled and turned, finding Scorpius a few feet from his table and with a questioning look on his face. After contemplating the alluring idea of not replying, he answered, "Yeah."

Scorpius smiled, relieved, and came closer. "Your friend Rose told me I'd find you here."

"Oh," Albus said. He noisily pulled out a chair; Scorpius got the message and took it.

He looked good, if tired, his tie loose and slung carelessly around his neck. He dropped his impossibly damaged bag on the ground and nervously ran a hand through his outgrowing hair. "How have you been?"

Albus had fantasized about many things he would say, but this polite inquiry for his well-being was not among them.

"Good, thanks. You?"

"Okay." Scorpius smiled tentatively. "Lysander told me you were busy."

Albus didn't blush, but it was a close call. "Yeah, quite. I—well, I noticed I didn't study too much this term. A bit to catch up now."

"It's probably my fault," said Scorpius, "helping me and all."

"Don't be stupid, those are two different things."

They fell quiet for a few moments, and Albus thought his discomfort had to radiate off him. Scorpius fidgeted with his rolled-up sleeves.

"Are you angry at me?" the blonde asked out of the blue.

Albus blinked, but Scorpius' expression was firm in place. "Of course not," he replied, nonplussed. "Why would I?"

"I don't know."

"Me neither." Albus leaned forward. "Look, I was behaving like a fool . . . that night. If anyone could be angry, it's you."

Scorpius swallowed, colouring faintly. "I'm not."

"Good," said Albus. "Can you accept my apologies for epic douchebaggery?" He was surprised at how nonchalant his voice sounded, considering that his heart was hammering in his throat.

Scorpius laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sure. You were drunk."

"And by the way, I_ had _the hangover from hell."

"Sweet justice," Scorpius said with a grin. Then, he turned serious. "We didn't get to talk that night, but—did you find something, or someone, interesting?"

Albus leaned back. "I guess. Before I was hammered beyond recognition, I had some fairly involving conversations. But overall—" How to put this, he wasn't sure. He hadn't even taken the time to properly admit it to himself. "Overall, you were right. No one who can share a big story will hang out in a pub, waiting to tell it."

"I'm sorry," said Scorpius, and it sounded painfully honest. "That sucks."

"Yep. I don't know; I might not do it again." Albus suppressed a sigh. He couldn't bring himself to actually regret it. "Sorry you helped me fix the Cabinet for—well, nothing much."

Scorpius shrugged. "I enjoyed it."

Albus looked at him curiously and found him blushing again. If only he didn't look so nice doing that, it would make everything a lot easier.

"So, what have you been up to the last two weeks?"

"Trying to catch up with my subjects." Scorpius rubbed a hand along his neck. "Looks like my housemates have gotten ahead of me, after all—not that it matters," he added quickly, smiling sheepishly.

For whichever reason, it mattered to Albus though. "Best we get back to work then," he offered. "I'm free this afternoon."

"You—seriously?" Scorpius' eyes hovered in the area of his face. "I thought you maybe—well, I thought you had your own subjects to worry about now."

"Sure I do. But that's no excuse to let you down." Had he really just said that? At least it was better than, _I don't study most of the time because I'm busy thinking about you anyway. _Albus intricately took his books and parchment from his bag and placed them upon the table. "What's on the agenda today?"

The last scepticism vanished from Scorpius' face. "History and Potions. Don't curse me."

Albus groaned, but reached for the books all the same. There he was again, reading about his most detested subjects instead of catching up with his enormous amount of homework. But that didn't matter as much as the feeling of something clicking into place—something that had gone missing in the time without Scorpius.

No matter how tense the atmosphere, or how much between them was left unspoken, at least, he could watch Scorpius, and laugh with him, and listen to him recite the most obscure details one could think of. It was pathetic, but he'd stopped caring somewhere along the way.

It was late when they were through with both Scorpius' and Albus' subjects. Surprisingly, they had gotten a lot of work done together, and Albus even felt himself warm up to some of the material.

Scorpius had scribbled down pages of Potions knowledge, but Albus didn't miss the new strain on his face. Only when they called it a night, he dared ask.

"Any news on the antidote?" He had meant for it to sound neutral, but his voice quivered ever so slightly. A pained expression flashed across Scorpius' face.

"Yes," he said. "Yes. I meant to tell you about this."

Albus stepped closer. "Yeah? What is it? They found something, right?"

Scorpius nodded, but didn't look relieved in the least.

"So? When can you take it?"

"It's—complicated."

Albus wanted to shake him. "Just tell me what's going on, okay?"

He wasn't prepared for Scorpius to release a tormented sigh and bury his face in his hands. "They don't know if it helps," he whispered. "I might be blind forever."

"No." Albus felt powerless. "No, you won't."

"It's been almost eight weeks," Scorpius insisted, his voice tight. "They told me the damage gets worse with time. At first it's the colours, and then everything is—disappears. They—No one knows what will happen when I take it." He looked away, embarrassed, but the tears were gathering unstoppably in the corners of his eyes.

Albus was horrified. Scorpius' sight was disappearing at that very moment, and it had been happening for weeks? They had nothing but waited, wasted time in which they could have healed him? Almost on instinct, he reached out for his friend and, when he hugged him, Scorpius sagged and let his head drop on Albus' shoulder. Albus felt him shake with quiet sobs and warily stroked his back.

It was intense, but it also felt right; like they had overcome a barrier that needed overcoming. He held tight until Scorpius took a deep breath and seemed to calm down.

"When will you take it?" Albus asked, not letting go.

"Tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Albus noticed that he could have offered support to his friend much sooner, had he not been busy hiding from his own idiocy. But, then again, Scorpius had sought him out today—maybe to study, but maybe to tell him this and be comforted. The thought filled Albus with that particular warmth reserved only for Scorpius.

"You know," Scorpius murmured, "I really hate this." His voice was broken and got caught in his throat.

"Sorry," Albus whispered back, for various reasons, and hugged Scorpius a bit tighter. In return he, very much felt the hands on his waist tighten and a moist face press up against the cotton of his shirt. He reached up tentatively and ran one hand through Scorpius' hair.

It felt much softer than it looked, especially in the tender area of his nape, and Albus did it again. Scorpius shivered against him.

Albus suddenly became aware of many things at once: his own frantic heartbeat, the silence of the library and the weight of this unforeseen moment. Scorpius' fingers moved slightly, hardly noticeably, against his hips, maybe caressing if you squinted—and what if this was it—the moment he had—

"_CLOSING TIME_," announced Madam Pince's magically enhanced voice from the counter, causing the boys to break apart. "_DEAR STUDENTS, PLEASE FINISH ANY LOANS NOW AND CLEAR THE LIBRARY. THANK YOU._"

Scorpius, with his cheeks nearly as red as his eyes, felt for his things so hastily he almost knocked over the table. Albus was still too dumbfounded by what had just transpired between them to get moving. Eventually, he shoved Scorpius' quill towards him, discreetly, and cleared his throat.

"When will you take the potion tomorrow?"

Scorpius found the quill and stuffed it into his pocket. "In my lunch break, I guess," he murmured. "One o'clock, in Slughorn's lab."

"Do you want me to come?" Albus asked, quickly adding, "I'd like to." He didn't want to sound like he thought Scorpius was too weak to go through it alone, but he somehow felt he should be there.

To his relief, Scorpius nodded. "Okay." He shouldered his bag and took out his wand; Albus was already at his side.

"May I?" he asked, his pulse almost choking him.

Scorpius nodded again, and stilled only momentarily when Albus put his hand on the small of his back instead. It felt much more intimate than taking his elbow, but Albus thought that after —_that moment_, whatever it had been, he could take the risk. The true nature of this touch was barring his windpipe, but Albus had no idea how he should really go about saying it. He didn't want to lose what they had carefully constructed over the past few weeks.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said when they reached the great staircase.

"Thank you," Scorpius said, obviously embarrassed. "For letting me cry on you like a little girl."

Albus laughed. "Anytime. I'm always collecting blackmail material."

"I know."

He looked so forlorn that Albus grabbed him by the shoulder again. "Don't drive yourself crazy, Scorp. That's not going to change what will happen tomorrow."

Scorpius nodded. "I'll try." Then, he looked at Albus, actually looked at him, with the most ambiguous expression. It wasn't as much resignation as it was a challenge, but before Albus could be sure, it was gone.

* * *

"Are you telling me to calm down? Is that what you're telling me?"

Draco Malfoy, that much remembered the Hogwarts staff, had been unpleasant at his best of times when he was a teenager. An infuriated, fully developed, version of him was nothing they particularly wanted to deal with.

"Mr. Malfoy, please," Professor McGonagall tried to arbitrate. "This is not helping now. We have to focus on the present situation."

Draco whipped around and glared at her. "Believe me, Headmistress, that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm racking my brains on how to get this—this—_cretin _fired!"

"Mr. Malfoy!" she hissed. "I believe we get your point, thank you."

Slughorn, in the meantime, had resorted to not speaking at all. He kept a safe distance from the infuriated father, well aware that he had every reason to be furious, and left it to the Headmistress to have order.

They had, after a long discussion, informed Scorpius' father. By their current estimation, the potion would not be able to restore Scorpius' full eyesight, and the longer they waited to tell his family, the deeper in trouble they'd be.

"So, when exactly," raged Draco in that moment, "were you planning on telling me this? In summer holidays, when my son returned back home and didn't recognise _his own father_?"

McGonagall didn't miss the despair mixing with Draco's anger, and she looked at him gently. "I know about the irresponsibility of my decision, and have expressed my apologies. I'm afraid there's nothing more I can do to calm you. However." She held her hand up, indicating him to wait, and the movement was effective even on a student who had long left school.

"However, I must stress that this was your son's idea—because he wanted to spare you the worries. At the outset of all this, we didn't know whether the accident wouldn't pass without consequences." She sighed. "Scorpius wanted the best for you, and we all want the best for him. Let's not transport this to a level of animosity."

Draco, obviously restraining himself, balled his hands into fists and took a deep breath. Finally, he nodded.

"So, how many weeks?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

"How many weeks has he been blind?" The word didn't come across his lips easily.

McGonagall looked at Slughorn, but presumed that any word from the potions master would just upset Draco more. "Eight weeks," she replied in his stead, "since the accident."

"Eight weeks?" Draco's mask of fury was back in place. "Eagle's Tears take three weeks preparation, at most!" He looked at Slughorn, who squirmed.

"They do, but I was researching for a different antidote. Eagle's Tears is illegal!" At least he had a proper reason for not instantly using that potion.

Draco merely rolled his eyes. "So what? It's about a student—whose life you, by the way, have ruined!" He turned away and ran his hands across his face. It was quiet for several seconds, then McGonagall decided to take the lead again.

"I advise not to use such crass language at this point. We don't know anything yet."

"You know that he won't have back his full sight." When Draco turned again, he looked more dishevelled and distressed than she had ever seen him. "He's a reader! If there's anything he can't live without, it's his books." He stopped himself and straightened. "Can I see him?"

McGonagall sighed inwardly. "He's in class at the moment. We have scheduled one o'clock for him taking the potion, and I'm sure he'll appreciate your presence then." She gestured invitingly. "If there's anything we can do for you in the meantime—"

"You have done enough already," Draco snapped.

"Very well. Horace?"

Slughorn took the hint and, without further commentary, left the office. The potion was finished and simmering in his lab, but he'd better supervise it for the last hours. If anything went wrong _now_, he had no doubts Draco Malfoy would have his head on a plate.

When the teacher had left, Draco released another giant sigh and sat down on McGonagall's couch. "He's in class, you said? How does he manage?"

"He has a study partner, who helps him with his subjects."

Draco looked at her, puzzled, but nodded his approval. "Good, that's good." He ran a hand through his hair and got up to resume his pacing. "So his grades aren't suffering? He's keeping up alright?"

McGonagall frowned at him. "I'm not sure this should be a concern of yours at—"

"Not of _mine_," Draco hissed, whirling around. "Of his own. My son worked hard to be top of class, and he has every right to care about this position."

This, the Headmistress could understand. She had of course perceived Scorpius Malfoy to be extraordinarily gifted and ambitious. "He's doing fine," she replied. "I can't say he's leading in every subject anymore, but the development is anything but worrisome. I'm sure that once he's fully adapted to these new—circumstances, he will do as fine as ever." She folded her hands. "You're certainly aware that I would not speak like this to every parent."

Draco kept glaring, but his expression softened the tiniest bit. The hard line around his mouth wouldn't vanish, but McGonagall knew that it had been formed by much more in the man's past—for now, she saw concern and anxiety wash over his face.

"I care about him," he said, as though the situation required his explanation. Professor McGonagall looked at him patiently.

"I know."

"I'm not sure you do." Draco stepped up to the window and pressed one fist to his lips. His voice sounded bitter and worn. "I don't recall earning a reputation as particularly caring in my Hogwarts' years. But—I wanted him to do better. Here I tried to guarantee ideal prerequisites for my son and this, of all things, has to happen!"

McGonagall watched his shoulders sag and sighed. "Mr. Malfoy, there is only so much you can protect a child from."

They remained silent for some time again. From the Headmistress's office, you could see the Quidditch pitch and suitably dressed students who kept mistrustfully eyeing the approaching rain clouds.

Draco turned around. "I could use a coffee, if I may."

McGonagall smiled and rang for a house-elf.

* * *

The day passed agonisingly slowly and too fast at the same time. In the classes Albus shared with Rose – Charms and Transfiguration – she would pester him until he told her what was going on. If nothing else, the news shut her up; at least, for a while.

"That's horrible, Al."

"Tell me about it."

"And now?"

"What, 'now'? He takes the antidote and we see what happens."

"You don't think something bad could happen to him, do you?"

"I don't know, okay? I don't fucking _know_!"

It was excruciating: as much as she wanted to help, the questions only emphasized his own helplessness. There was nothing he could do at this point, and who could really guess what would happen when Scorpius took the antidote? What if it made matters worse? He craved for and dreaded one o'clock.

Shortly before lunch break, Rose pulled him aside, looking stern. Albus couldn't remember seeing her like this ever before, and he felt a strange tenderness: after all, she cared.

"I know what I said about him, being a Malfoy and all. But—I really hope this helps. All of it."

"Thanks," Albus replied, more mechanically than intended.

"Let me know what happens."

"As if I could keep it from you."

He was left alone in the corridor, just the occasional First- and Second-year student strolling past. Albus tried to remember himself and Scorpius in their first years at Hogwarts, but most of it was a distinct blur, more prominent their meetings at King's Cross. It didn't escape his notice that his father paid a certain attention to the Malfoys, but Albus himself never did.

Well, that certainly had changed.

Shortly before one o'clock, Albus descended the very familiar way to the Dungeons. His heart was pounding at laughable intensity when he entered the Potions classroom and made his way through to Horace Slughorn's lab. He hadn't been prepared for one of the present guests.

"Who is this?" asked Draco Malfoy, as haughty as in Harry's wildest tales. Besides, Albus' looks probably gave away pretty soon who he was. "What is he doing here?"

"I can talk as well, sir," Albus retorted snottily. "My name is Albus Potter and I'm Scorpius's—friend." They had been 'only study partners' before that. "He knew I'd be here."

"Is that true?" Scorpius' father asked him. Albus noticed that one of his hands lay protectively on his son's shoulder.

"Yes." Scorpius seemed uncomfortable, but managed a smile in Albus's direction. "Dad, Albus has helped me studying since the accident. He's a really good friend." He looked abashed by the revelation, but didn't waver. "Please, be nice."

Scorpius's father seemed to carry out a little fight with himself, and for some reason his gaze rested unusually long on Albus' green silk tie. Then, he smiled, if a little wiggly. "Mr. Potter, thank you very much for all your help. We owe you."

Embarrassed, Albus shook his head; the man was odd, but not necessarily unpleasant. There was something deep about him that made it hard to shake off the number of stories. "Not a problem," Albus muttered, burying his hands in his pockets.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall addressed him with a smile. She was standing next to a very nervous looking Slughorn, who held an empty cup in his hand. The cauldron in front of them sizzled contently. "Mr. Malfoy informed us that you'd be present as well."

"Yeah, I—" Albus shut himself up. He didn't really know what to say, so he kept standing where he'd stopped.

"Horace, if you please," said the Headmistress.

Slughorn cleared his throat and looked up. Albus noticed how the older Malfoy obviously wanted to murder the man with his eyes only, and he had to suppress a chuckle. The potions master briefly explained the brewing process of Eagle's Tears, and which ingredients might cause improvement in which ways.

"Since eight weeks passed, I can't promise the potion's full effect," Slughorn said, avoiding everyone's eyes. "We'll have to see what happens when Mr. Malfoy takes it."

"Yeah, let's do it," Scorpius cut in. Albus noticed him picking his nail beds, something he only did under extreme stress.

Slughorn squirmed some more. "I have to warn you," he said, "if ingestion of the antidote occurs much later than the contact with the poison, various effects to one's senses may take place." He glanced sideways at the headmistress, whose face remained stony. "A variety of them have been recorded in the past. The strong impact on the optic nerve may cause disturbance of other perceptive organs."

The potions lab was very quiet after this. Albus looked at Scorpius, whose face was a mask if not for his tense jaw. He noticed Mr. Malfoy's knuckles turned white from the strength of his grip.

"Scorpius," his father finally said, "I advise you to take it, but it's your decision."

Scorpius looked like he was about to shake. All insecurities of the past weeks were suddenly written across his face, leaving it hard and vulnerable. Albus could almost see his thoughts race: what might happen if he took it. What if he didn't? Both could and would change his life forever.

Albus felt tenderness so intense it took his breath away. He wanted to be able to change this, all of this, but of course he couldn't.

"Scorpius," he said, the other people in the room unimportant. "Can we talk for a minute, alone?"

He ignored the piercing gaze of Mr. Malfoy, as well as the utter surprise on McGonagall's face. All he focused on was his friend, who nodded and took a careful step in his direction. Albus took his arm and led him from the room.

They stopped at the far end of the Potions classroom, out of earshot. Only now Albus noticed the faint red rims around Scorpius' eyes.

"Hey."

"Thanks for coming," Scorpius whispered, his voice steady yet, but breaking. Albus put both hands on his shoulders and held him still.

"Sure, Scorp. Scorpius. Listen." He took a deep breath, focusing on the warmth of the cotton and body beneath. "You should think about this."

Scorpius laughed a half-hearted, bitter laugh. "Believe me, I've done nothing _but _think about this for the past eight bloody weeks!" For a moment, Albus thought he'd wriggle from his grip, but he stayed just where he was. They were so close he could smell the lemons again.

He sighed. "I know. It's just—Maybe you're better off getting used to this, instead of who knows what happening." It sounded ridiculous that way. "We're getting there. You're getting there. I've seen how strong you are."

Scorpius hesitated, a few seconds, before a sad smile broke out on his face and he murmured, "Since when are you Mr. Nice Bloke?"

"I'm not, idiot," Albus retorted. "You better appreciate my rare compliments."

"Or what?"

"Or I stop making them."

Scorpius' smile widened. "I'd hate that."

No sound came from the lab, only the constant puzzling sounds of the Dungeons—was it pipes working?—filled the quiet. Albus listened to both their breathing. He had to say something, even if he wasn't sure what.

"I'm a selfish Slytherin, and I don't want to lose your acceptable company."

Scorpius snorted. "What was that?"

"Scorp." Albus let go off Scorpius' shoulders. "I'd rather you stay blind than—different."

"What, so I can never see your hideous hair?"

"That Potter-Malfoy joke is old."

"So it is."

They stood the way they would if they could look deeply into each other's eyes. After an eternity, Scorpius lifted his hand and searched for Albus' chin. When he found it, his fingers ran farther upwards, cautious and hardly touching, until they were on his lips. Albus concentrated on Scorpius' own concentration while his heart thundered through his head.

"Do you only do that when you're drunk?" Scorpius asked, his voice rasped.

Albus took a step forward. "Do what?" He opened his lips and felt a long finger drop to where it was moist. He pressed a kiss to the tip.

Scorpius' eyes fluttered shut. "I don't know," he whispered.

Albus pulled him close, not unlike in the library, though actually it was nothing like in the library because then he hadn't known the first thing about what he wanted.

"You don't see it, so I'll ask you," he said quietly. "Can I kiss you?"

And then Scorpius removed the finger from his lip, wrapped both arms around Albus' neck, and was pressing their lips together with enough insistency to drive them against Slughorn's shelf.

Neither the toppling of vials, nor the bruising of furniture mattered. Not even his own stupidity or fate's weird ways could keep Albus' mind busy, as all his senses were currently and fully occupied. He held Scorpius tightly enough to crush him, only Scorpius didn't get crushed at all, but held him just as tightly in return.

Albus parted his lips and gasped for breath, and Scorpius generously shared his. Their tongues touched, hesitantly at first, but with increasing determination. It was wet and sloppy and perfect, and Albus felt himself get lightheaded. When he inhaled deeply and exhaled into Scorpius' mouth, it felt like they shared a breath down to their cores.

An unknown amount of time later, they broke apart. Albus opened his eyes to find a beautifully flushed blonde who was busy running his hands all over Albus' face to map it out.

"I really want to see you," Scorpius said.

Albus grinned, tangling his fingers in the fine blonde hair. "You've seen me for six years."

Scorpius grimaced. "You're stupid," he observed, "I never looked. Not like this." And he flushed some more.

"You know, that's not how looking works," Albus teased. "And you smell really fucking good."

"Yeah, I remember that."

"Just don't turn arrogant."

"No, that's your post already."

Albus shoved him, but tangled their fingers together. The act made them both go still, though neither pulled back. When Albus prepared for what he was about to say, he thought he'd definitely inherited a fair bit of Gryffindor courage. He swallowed, feeling like the novel hero overcoming a seemingly impossible gap.

"I'm in love with you. Just in case you hadn't noticed."

Scorpius grinned goofily. "I might have," he said and then squeezed Albus' fingers almost painfully. "That's good, because I'm in love with you too."

The situation was way too corny not to laugh, but Albus managed to restrain himself. Instead he closed his eyes and replayed the simple and most meaningful words in his head until they sounded like a different language altogether.

Scorpius released a quiet sigh. "I'll take the potion. If I don't, I'll always wonder about what if I had."

"Alright." Albus led him away from the shelf, taking in the mess they had made and silently grinning to himself. Served Slughorn right. He tipped Scorpius' hand with his thumb. "Do you—Does that make you uncomfortable?"

"Not in the least." Scorpius leaned in again and Albus met him half-way. Their lips rested against each other for a few long seconds before they pulled apart. "How do I look?" Scorpius asked, trying to readjust his hair.

Albus grinned. "Like someone who just had the snog of their life."

Scorpius rolled his eyes, but let himself be pulled back to the lab. Albus' heart was hammering in his chest, but he was impressed to find that Scorpius didn't let go of his hand in front of his father and teachers. Two pairs of eyes wandered to their joined hands and he felt himself blush, but no one made a comment.

"Mr. Malfoy, have you decided?" Professor McGonagall asked in a nonchalant voice.

"I have," said Scorpius. "I want to take it."

Albus glanced at Scorpius' father, who looked both anxious and proud. When he reached out for his son, Albus let go.

* * *

"You know, in a way this is ultimate House unity."

It was a sunny, if windy afternoon three days before the final exams, and many students had taken their books to the lake. As long as the weeping willows' shadows didn't grow too long, it was comfortably warm by the shore, the stone slabs heated up by signs of summer.

Rose grinned and dropped her head back into Lorcan's lap. "Oh yeah, why is that?"

Albus rolled his eyes. "Please. Don't encourage him."

"Because," Scorpius continued, unperturbed, "all your ties and sheets and all that crap look the same now."

Lorcan gave up on his current chapter and ran a hand through Rose's hair. "Really? Completely the same?"

"Pretty much, yes." Scorpius looked at them, and then turned to Albus reproachfully. "Why can't you be that nice to me, huh?"

Albus threw him a perfectly irritated glance. "Because I'm studying, you know-it-all."

"'Pretending' is more like it."

"Oh, yeah? Come here and say that again."

"Pretending. Pre-ten—"

He didn't get to finish, because Albus cast his book aside and head-locked him. "Care to say it again?"

Rose watched them, snickering. "Never mess with a Slytherin, Scorp."

Scorpius' retort was successfully cut off by Albus bowing down and kissing him fully on the lips. After a brief and fake struggle, Scorpius returned the kiss so enthusiastically they rolled over and landed flat on the grass.

Rose rolled her eyes, while Lorcan looked like he still had to wrap his mind around the idea of his housemate dating another bloke.

"So, uhh . . . what does it look like? All greys?"

Scorpius sat up, dramatically gasping for air. "Yeah," he said. "Different shades, but none really dark or really bright." He hit Albus, who was laughing insanely. "Makes it easier that I remember the colours; this way I can compare."

According to several potions masters over time, Scorpius had been lucky: after taking the Eagle's Tears, his eyesight had fully returned, with exception of his ability to see colours. Since everyone had been prepared for the worst, though, the conditions didn't seem too bad. Albus recalled the expression of pure, unveiled joy on Scorpius' face when he found he'd be able to read again.

And to see Albus' face.

He sat up himself and slipped one arm around Scorpius' waist; the thought still made him smile. The way Scorpius had looked at him, that afternoon—Albus was sure no one would ever look at him like that again.

"Hey you sickening couples," yelled Louis, approaching with a broom in hand and Lysander in tow. "Don't tell me you haven't used this brilliant day one bit."

Rose squinted up at him. "Oh, we're using it excellently."

"Right. If any of you studied one line, Slytherin loses to Hufflepuff tomorrow."

Albus threw his quill at him. "Would you bear the shame?"

"Nope." Louis made a face and flopped down between them. "There's no way in hell we're going to lose. We trained like thirty hours. A day. Did I say our Captain is a sadist?"

"No please," Albus nodded, "say it again."

Louis put up his best glare. "You'd be the first whose ass I'd kick, Potter, if only it was on a broom."

Albus felt slightly betrayed when everyone laughed. Then, Scorpius kissed his jaw and stretched out on the ground, putting his head in Albus' lap, and so it was okay—like weeks ago, only better.

He twirled the light hair and leant down. "I want to show you something," he whispered.

Scorpius' eyes lit up. "Oh yeah? What is that?"

"Move your lazy arse and you'll see."

Louis and Rose groaned simultaneously.

"We'll see you at dinner?"

"And no, we do _not _want to know what you're up to!"

Albus dug one hand suggestively into Scorpius' hip pocket and grinned. "See you guys later." Only when they were approaching the castle, Scorpius looked at him with a raised eyebrows.

"This is not what I think it is, right?"

Albus chuckled. "Nah, probably not."

The Room of Hidden Things opened as it constantly had for weeks in the past, tearing a monochrome hole in the wall. It was the first time Scorpius actually saw what it was like, and they stood silently for minutes, just taking it in.

"There's no colours," Albus said, "it's exactly how you see it."

Scorpius crouched to touch the ashes and smiled. "Beautiful."

Trust him to think the dead grounds beautiful, Albus thought fondly. But then again, just because fire had swept through this room, it hadn't necessarily died. "Want to go pay the Cabinet one last visit?"

Scorpius nodded and grinned. "Does that mean I have to walk by myself now?"

Albus rolled his eyes, but put his arm around Scorpius's waist and slipped a hand beneath his shirt. They made their way across the shifting ashes, successfully dirtying their shoes in the process, and stopped in front of the Vanishing Cabinet. It was still beautiful and imposing, and Scorpius drank in the sight like he looked at everything now with multiplied intensity.

The Cabinet's doors stood open, as Albus had left them that night, and in one corner, an ambitious spider had already cocooned its home. Scorpius smiled at the sight.

"Looks like its story is told after all."

Albus took his face into both hands and kissed him. "And you were right yet again. This is insufferable."

Scorpius pulled him closer, folding his hands at the small of Albus' back. "I wasn't the first to come up with this, though. In fact, Mervyn Miraculis set up the same theory sixty years ago."

"Hmm," said Albus, "fascinating."

Then, they kissed until they lost their balance.

~ ~ ~FIN~ ~ ~


End file.
